When Trouble Haunts Me, Need

I Never Saw So Sweet A Face. As That I Stood Before. My Heart Has Left It Dwelling Place ... And Can Return No More.

In Mid-wood Silence, Thus, How Sweet To Be; Where All The Noises, That On Peace Intrude, Come From The Chittering Cricket, Bird, And Bee, Whose Songs Have Charms To Sweeten Solitude.

I Found The Poems In The Fields And Only Wrote Them Down

Into The Nothingness Of Scorn And Noise, Into The Living Sea Of Waking Dreams, Where There Is Neither Sense Of Life Or Joys, But The Vast Shipwreck Of My Life's Esteems; And E'en The Dearest--that I Love The Best-- Are Strange--nay, Rather Stranger Than The Rest.

The Present Is The Funeral Of The Past, And Man The Living Sepulchre Of Life.