Not as that dream Napoleon, rumou… Before who’s riding all the crowds… Who dedicates a column and withdra… Nor as that general favourite and… To whom the weather and the ruins…

If it form the one landscape that… Are consistently homesick for, thi… Because it dissolves in water. Ma… With their surface fragrance of th… A secret system of caves and condu…

Ours yet not ours, being set apart As a shrine to friendship, Empty and silent most of the year, This room awaits from you What you alone, as visitor, can br…

He told us we were free to choose But, children as we were, we thoug… “Paternal Love will only use Force in the last resort On those too bumptious to repent.”

Our hunting fathers told the story Of the sadness of the creatures, Pitied the limits and the lack Set in their finished features; Saw in the lion’s intolerant look,

Poet, oracle and wit Like unsuccessful anglers by Th ponds of apperception sit, Baiting with the wrong request The vectors of their interest;

Fish in the unruffled lakes Their swarming colours wear, Swans in the winter air A white perfection have, And the great lion walks

Dear, though the night is gone, Its dream still haunts to-day, That brought us to a room Cavernous, lofty as A railway terminus,

Unrhymed, unrhythmical, the chatte… Yet no one hears his own remarks a… Beneath each topic tunelessly disc… The ground-bass is reciprocal mist… The names in fashion shuttling to…