The Poppies Hung Dew-dabbled On

And When Thou Art Weary I'll Find Thee A Bed, Of Mosses And Flowers To Pillow Thy Head.

I Am Sailing With Thee Through The Dizzy Sky! How Beautiful Thou Art!

To Feel Forever Its Soft Fall And Swell, Awake For Ever In A Sweet Unrest, Still, Still To Hear Her Tender-taken Breath, And So Live Ever-or Else Swoon In Death.

Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled Wards, And Seal The Hushed Casket Of My Soul.

Beauty Is Truth, Truth Beauty