Yet How Proud We Are, In Daring

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways.

And That Dismal Cry Rose Slowly And Sank Slowly Through The Air, Full Of Spirit's Melancholy And Eternity's Despair; And They Heard The Words It Said,- "pan Is Dead! Great Pan Is Dead! Pan, Pan Is Dead!"

Eyes Of Gentianellas Azure, Staring, Winking At The Skies.

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.

Many A Crown Covers Bald Foreheads.