Was It A Vision Or

She Hurried At His Words, Beset With Fears, For There Were Sleeping Dragons All Around.

Sweet Are The Pleasures That To Verse Belong, And Doubly Sweet A Brotherhood In Song.

Dance And Provencal Song And Sunburnt Mirth! On For A Beaker Full Of The Warm South, Full Of The True, The Blushful Hippocrene! With Beaded Bubbles Winking At The Brim, And Purple-stained Mouth.

A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever.

I Have Nothing To Speak Of But My Self-and What Can I Say But What I Feel.