to the Sweet was the youth of virgin boery, 1 thy brain, Those babes Paradise, without the pain of mortal birth, to fairest besitage Bow in the peshness of this perfect age. Thy Harry Knight had all the wild in te For all the wred nos hairyland to thee thine is no tale, once acted, then forget; Thy creatures never were, and heer inte be th! look such for them in the dark abyss Where all things have been, and where both the spectral poet; - not in the troubled ve Where all strange pancies are about to be The unstiding present. Seek them where For new lives the Good, the here, the hair, In the eternal silence of the heart. There Spencer found them; thence his magse Their shady cooked in feature, plow and lieme tal as a human self, and hight as And what thoughs wistful love and emulous an And all the wogard might I matter'd charen though dimy maker diseage their battly ange, the somations phantoms womit on archimoy there on but dreams, that come, and go, Through the thin curtains of a sunsing a |