I sometimes find it half a sin, To put to words the grief i feel, For words like nature,half reveal, and half conceal the soul within.

A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.

Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.

And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech.

I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.

But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.