No Stir Of Air Was There, Not

O For A Life Of Sensations Rather Than Of Thoughts!

I Am Certain I Have Not A Right Feeling Towards Women -- At This Moment I Am Striving To Be Just To Them, But I Cannot. Is It Because They Fall So Far Beneath My Boyish Imagination? When I Was A Schoolboy I Thought A Fair Woman A Pure Goddess; My Mind Was A Soft Nest In Which Some One Of Them Slept, Though She Knew It Not.

No Stir Of Air Was There, Not So Much Life As On A Summer's Day Robs Not One Light Seed From The Feather'd Grass, But Where The Dead Leaf Fell, There Did It Rest.

But The Rose Leaves Herself Upon The Brier, For Winds To Kiss And Grateful Bees To Feed.

The Grandeur Of The Dooms We Have Imagined For The Mighty Dead.