The Poppies Hung Dew-dabbled On Their Stalks.

My Chest Of Books Divide Amongst My Friends.

The Roaring Of The Wind Is My Wife And The Stars Through The Window Pane Are My Children.

The Days Of Peace And Slumberous Calm Are Fled.

...yes, In Spite Of All, Some Shape Of Beauty Moves Away The Pall From Out Dark Spirits.

Asleep In Lap Of Legends Old.