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We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.

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In snow thou comestThou shalt go with resuming groundThe sweet derision of thx crowAnd Glee's advancing sound

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The Poets light but Lamps-Themselves-go out-

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THE MOON was but a chin of gold A night or two ago, And now she turns her perfect face Upon the world below. Her forehead is of amplest blond; Her ch...more

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In lands I never saw, they say, Immortal Alps look down,Whose bonnets touch the firmament,Whose sandals touch the town, ―Meek at whose everlasting fee...more