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I thought of all that worked dark pits Of war, and died Digging the rock where Death reputes Peace lies indeed.
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'I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone', Shelley would tell me. Shelley wound be stunned:...
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Dead men may envy living mites in cheese, Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys, And subdivide, and never come to death.
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The pallor of girl's brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,...
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There was an artist silly for his face, For it was younger than his youth, last year.
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