There Is A Budding Tomorrow In Midnight.

Through The Dancing Poppies Stole A Breeze, Most Softly Lulling To My Soul.

I Would Sooner Fail Than Not Be Among The Greatest.

Dancing Music, Music Sad, Both Together, Sane And Mad.

No Sooner Had I Stepp'd Into These Pleasures Than I Began To Think Of Rhymes And Measures: The Air That Floated By Me Seem'd To Say 'write! Thou Wilt Never Have A Better Day.

Asleep In Lap Of Legends Old.