If I read a book and it makes my
“Why do I love” You, Sir?
The Wind does not require the Gra
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.
Through lane it lay’—through bramb
Through clearing and through wood’
Banditti often passed us
Upon the lonely road.
As Watchers hang upon the East,
As Beggars revel at a feast
By savory Fancy spread—
As brooks in deserts babble sweet
Wild nights—Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
The face I carry with me’—last’—
When I go out of Time’—
To take my Rank’—by’—in the West’
That face’—will just be thine’—
Is it dead’—Find it’—
Out of sound’—Out of sight’—
“Happy”? Which is wiser’—
You, or the Wind?
Taking up the fair Ideal,
Just to cast her down
When a fracture—we discover—
Or a splintered Crown—
Empty my Heart, of Thee—
Its single Artery—
Begin, and leave Thee out—
Simply Extinction’s Date—
Fitter to see Him, I may be
For the long Hindrance—Grace—to
With Summers, and with Winters, g
Some passing Year—A trait bestow