Wine Is Only Sweet To Happy Men.

Tall Oaks Branch Charmed By The Earnest Stars Dream And So Dream All Night Without A Stir.

Then Felt I Like Some Watcher Of The Skies When A New Planet Swims Into His Ken.

Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art-- Not In Lone Splendour Hung Aloft The Night And Watching, With Eternal Lids Apart, Like Nature's Patient, Sleepless Eremite.

... Who Alive Can Say 'thou Art No Poet - Mayst Not Tell Thy Dreams'? Since Every Man Whose Soul Is Not A Clod Hath Visions, And Would Speak, If He Had Loved, And Been Well Nurtured In His Mother Tongue.

The Poetry Of Earth Is Never Dead When All The Birds Are Faint With The Hot Sun, And Hide I Cooling Trees, A Voice Will Run From Hedge To Hedge About The New-mown Mead.