Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever

Faded The Flower And All Its Budded Charms,faded The Sight Of Beauty From My Eyes,faded The Shape Of Beauty From My Arms,faded The Voice, Warmth, Whiteness, Paradise!vanishd Unseasonably

She Hurried At His Words, Beset With Fears, For There Were Sleeping Dragons All Around.

So Let Me Be Thy Choir, And Make A Moan Upon The Midnight Hours.

What Is More Gentle Than A Wind Is Summer?

I Compare Human Life To A Large Mansion Of Many Apartments, Two Of Which I Can Only Describe, The Doors Of The Rest Being As Yet Shut Upon Me.