To Sorrow I Bade Good-morrow, And Thought

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

Now A Soft Kiss - Aye, By That Kiss, I Vow An Endless Bliss.

This Grave Contains All That Was Mortal Of A Young English Poet Who On His Death Bed In The Bitterness Of His Heart At The Malicious Power Of His Enemies Desired These Words To Be Engraved On His Tomb Stone "here Lies One Whose Name Was Writ In Water."

I Must Choose Between Despair And Energy──i Choose The Latter.

Who Hath Not Seen Thee Oft Amid Thy Store? Sometimes Whoever Seeks Abroad May Find Thee Sitting Careless On A Granary Floor, Thy Hair Soft-lifted By The Winnowing Wind; Or On A Half-reap'd Furrow Sound Asleep, Drows'd With The Fume Of Poppies, While Thy Hook Spares The Next Swath And All Its Twined Flowers.