Tis Curious That We Only

The Reality Is More Excellent Than The Report.

Only Poetry Inspires Poetry.

I See My Trees Repair Their Boughs.

Go Oft To The House Of Thy Friend, For Weeds Choke The Unused Path.

And Dazzling Memory Revive.refresh The Faded Tints, Recut The Aged Prints, And Write My Old Adventures, With The Pen Which, On The First Day, Drew Upon The Tablets Blue The Dancing Pleiads, And The Eternal Men.