How Does The Poet Speak To Men

So Let Me Be Thy Choir, And Make A Moan Upon The Midnight Hours.

How Does The Poet Speak To Men With Power, But By Being Still More A Man Than They

It Is A Flaw In Happiness To See Beyond Our Bourn, - It Forces Us In Summer Skies To Mourn, It Spoils The Singing Of The Nightingale.

Scenery Is Fine - But Human Nature Is Finer.

Let Us Away, My Love, With Happy Speed; There Are No Ears To Hear, Or Eyes To See, - Drown'd All In Rhenish And The Sleepy Mead. Awake! Arise! My Love And Fearless Be, For O'er The Southern Moors I Have A Home For Thee.