How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life’s November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!

Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.

Thought is the soul of act.

So, fall asleep love, loved by me... for I know love, I am loved by thee.

The moment eternal - just that and no more - When ecstasy's utmost we clutch at the core While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut, and lips meet!

Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!