A Pleasure So Exquisite As

An Exquisite Invention This, Worthy Of Love's Most Honeyed Kiss,-- This Art Of Writing Billet-doux-- In Buds, And Odors, And Bright Hues! In Saying All One Feels And Thinks In Clever Daffodils And Pinks; In Puns Of Tulips; And In Phrases, Charming For Their Truth, Of Daisies.

Night's Deepest Gloom Is But A Calm; That Soothes The Weary Mind: The Labored Days Restoring Balm; The Comfort Of Mankind.

When Moral Courage Feels That It Is In The Right, There Is No Personal Daring Of Which It Is Incapable.

Oh For A Seat In Some Poetic Nook, Just Hid With Trees And Sparkling With A Brook!

The Golden Line Is Drawn Between Winter And Summer. Behind All Is Blackness And Darkness And Dissolution. Before Is Hope, And Soft Airs, And The Flowers, And The Sweet Season Of Hay; And People Will Cross The Fields, Reading Or Walking With One Another; And Instead Of The Rain That Soaks Death Into The Heart Of Green Things, Will Be The Rain Which They Drink With Delight; And There Will Be Sleep On The Grass At Midday, And Early Rising In The Morning, And Long Moonlight Evenings.