In Maiden Meditation, Fancy Free.

The Fringed Curtains Of Thine Eye Advance, And Say What Thou Seest Yond.

Hung Be The Heavens With Black! Yield, Day, To Night!

Now I Will Believe That There Are Unicorns.

Past And To Come, Seems Best; Things Present, Worse.

The Native Hue Of Resolution Is Sicklied O'er With The Pale Cast Of Thought; And Enterprises Of Great Pitch And Moment, With This Regard, Their Currents Turn Awry, And Lose The Name Of Action.