The Creature Has A Purpose, And His

Ghosts Of Melodious Prophesyings Rave Round Every Spot Where Trod Apollo's Foot; Bronze Clarions Awake, And Faintly Bruit, Where Long Ago A Giant Battle Was; And, From The Turf, A Lullaby Doth Pass In Every Place Where Infant Orpheus Slept. Feel We These Things? - That Moment Have We Stept Into A Sort Of Oneness, And Our State Is Like A Floating Spirit's. But There Are Richer Entanglements, Enthralments Far More Self-destroying, Leading, By Degrees, To The Chief Intensity: The Crown Of These Is Made Of Love And Friendship, And Sits High Upon The Forehead Of Humanity.

They Swayed About Upon A Rocking Horse, And Thought It Pegasus.

A Man's Life Of Any Worth Is A Continual Allegory, And Very Few Eyes Can See The Mystery Of His Life, A Life Like The Scriptures, Figurative.

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?

Severn - I - Lift Me Up - I Am Dying - I Shall Die Easy; Don't Be Frightened - Be Firm, And Thank God It Has Come.