Music my rampart, and my only one.

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning, but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.

I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.

Euclid Alone Has Looked on Beauty Bare.

There is no shelter in you anywhere.

Under my head till morning; but the rain, Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh, Upon the glass and listen for reply.