Night conceals a world but reveals a universe.

And I have written three books on the soul, Proving absurd all written hitherto, And putting us to ignorance again.

Smiling the boy fell dead.

Believeth with the life, the pain shall stop.

Where the apple reddens never pry - lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.

The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its best to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up and all the cottage warm.

Faultless to a fault.