Where Are The Songs Of Spring? Aye,

Feeling Well That Breathed Words Would All Be Lost, Unheard, And Vain As Swords Against The Enchased Crocodile, Or Leaps Of Grasshoppers Against The Sun.

O Latest Born And Loveliest Vision Far Of All Olympus' Faded Hierarchy.

Poetry Should Surprise By A Fine Excess And Not By Singularity, It Should Strike The Reader As A Wording Of His Own Highest Thoughts, And Appear Almost A Remembrance.

He Ne'er Is Crowned With Immortality Who Fears To Follow Where Airy Voices Lead.

O For The Gentleness Of Old Romance, The Simple Planning Of A Minstrel's Song!