From Sunny Woof And Cloudy

He Is Dead Already Who Doth Not Feel Life Is Worth Living Still.

In My Song You Catch At Times Note Sweeter Far Than Mine, And In The Tangle Of My Rhymes Can Scent The Eglantine.

Never Did Form More Fairy Thread The Dance Than She Who Scours The Hills To Find It Flowers; Never Did Sweeter Lips Chained Ears Entrance Than Hers That Move, True To Its Striking Hours; No Hands So White E'er Decked The Warrior's Lance, As Those Which Tend Its Lamp As Darkness Lours; And Never Since Dear Christ Expired For Man, Had Holy Shrine So Fair A Sacristan.

In Vain Would Science Scan And Trace Firmly Her Aspect. All The While, There Gleams Upon Her Far-off Face A Vague Unfathomable Smile.

We Are All Alike, And We Love To Keep Passion Aglow At Our Feet, Like One That Sitteth In Shade And Complacently Smiles At The Heat.