The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
The air is all softness.
Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.
I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.