Your Eyes Smile Peace.

Your Eyes Smile Peace.

So Spring Comes Merry Towards Me Here, But Earns No Answering Smile From Me, Whose Life Is Twin'd With The Dead Boughs That Winter Still Must Bind, And Whom Today The Spring No More Concerns. Behold, This Crocus Is A Withering Flame; This Snowdrop, Snow; This Apple-blossom's Part To Breed The Fruit That Breeds The Serpent's Art. Nay, For These Spring-flowers, Turn Thy Face From Them, Nor Stay Till On The Year's Last Lily-stem The White Cup Shrivels Round The Golden Heart.

Sudden Light I Have Been Here Before, But When Or How I Cannot Tell: I Know The Grass Beyond The Door, The Sweet Keen Smell, The Sighing Sound, The Light Around The Shore.

I Am Not As These Are, The Poet Saithin Youth's Pride, And The Painter, Among Menat Bay, Where Never Pencil Comes Nor Pem

Beauty Like Hers Is Genius.