Much Madness Is Divinest Sense,

Two Seasons, It Is Said, Exist- The Summer Of The Just, And This Of Ours, Diversified With Prospect, And With Frost- May Not Our Second With Its First So Infinite Compare That We But Recollect The One The Other To Prefer?

Each That We Lose Takes A Part Of Us; A Crescent Still Abides, Which Like The Moon, Some Turbid Night, Is Summoned By The Tides.

I Hide Myself Within My Flower That Wearing On Your Breast, You, Unsuspecting, Wear Me Too - And Angels Know The Rest. I Hide Myself Within My Flower, That, Fading From Your Vase, You, Unsuspecting, Feel For Me Almost A Loneliness.

How Happy Is The Little Stone That Rambles In The Road Alone, And Doesn't Care About Careers, And Exigencies Never Fears; Whose Coat Of Elemental Brown A Passing Universe Put On; And Independent As The Sun, Associates Or Glows Alone, Fulfilling Absolute Decree In Casual Simplicity.

Look Back On Time With Kindly Eyes, He Doubtless Did His Best; How Softly Sinks His Trembling Sun In Human Nature's West!