Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled

I Am Certain Of Nothing But The Holiness Of The Heart's Affections, And The Truth Of Imagination.

Dance And Provencal Song And Sunburnt Mirth! On For A Beaker Full Of The Warm South, Full Of The True, The Blushful Hippocrene! With Beaded Bubbles Winking At The Brim, And Purple-stained Mouth.

What Is There In Thee, Moon! That Thou Should'st Move My Heart So Potently?

Through Buried Paths, Where Sleepy Twilight Dreams The Summer Time Away.

A Man Should Have The Fine Point Of His Soul Taken Off To Become Fit For This World.