Like To Write? Of Course,

Suddenly, As Rare Things Will, It Vanished.

Truth Outlives Pain, As The Soul Does Life.

I Would Build A Cloudy House For My Thoughts To Live In; When For Earth Too Fancy-loose And Too Low For Heaven! Hush! I Talk My Dream Aloud - I Build It Bright To See, - I Build It On The Moonlit Cloud, To Which I Looked With Thee.

Alas, I Have Grieved So I Am Hard To Love. Yet Love Me--wilt Thou? Open Thine Heart Wide, And Fold Within, The Wet Wings Of Thy Dove.

And Chaucer, With His Infantine Familiar Clasp Of Things Divine.