Through The Dancing Poppies Stole

Every Fresh Experience Points Out Some Form Of Error Which We Shall Afterwards Carefully Avoid.

I Saw Pale Kings And Princes Too, Pale Warriors, Death-pale Were They All; They Cried- "la Belle Dame Sans Merci Hath Thee In Thrall!

Where The Nightingale Doth Sing Not A Senseless, Tranced Thing, But Divine Melodious Truth.

Conversation Is Not A Search After Knowledge, But An Endeavor At Effect.

I Almost Wish We Were Butterflies And Liv'd But Three Summer Days - Three Such Days With You I Could Fill With More Delight Than Fifty Common Years Could Ever Contain.