To Stay Youthful, Stay Useful.

So Rainbow-sided, Touch'd With Miseries, She Seem'd, At Once, Some Penanced Lady Elf, Some Demon's Mistress, Or The Demon's Self.

The Poppies Hung Dew-dabbled On Their Stalks.

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

I Had A Dove And The Sweet Dove Died; And I Have Thought It Died Of Grieving: O, What Could It Grieve For? Its Feet Were Tied, With A Silken Thread Of My Own Hands' Weaving.

Let Us Away, My Love, With Happy Speed; There Are No Ears To Hear, Or Eyes To See, - Drown'd All In Rhenish And The Sleepy Mead. Awake! Arise! My Love And Fearless Be, For O'er The Southern Moors I Have A Home For Thee.