The Day Is Gone, And All Its

Here Are Sweet Peas, On Tiptoe For A Flight; With Wings Of Gentle Flush O'er Delicate White, And Taper Fingers Catching At All Things, To Bind Them All About With Tiny Rings.

My Heart Aches, And A Drowsy Numbness Pains/ My Sense, As Though Of Hemlock I Had Drunk.

Season Of Mists And Mellow Fruitfulness, Close Bosom-friend Of The Maturing Sun.

How Does The Poet Speak To Men With Power, But By Being Still More A Man Than They

O Fret Not After Knowledge - I Have None, And Yet My Song Comes Native With The Warmth. O Fret Not After Knowledge - I Have None, And Yet The Evening Listens.