I Do Think Better Of Womankind Than

When I Behold, Upon The Night's Starr'd Face, Huge Cloudy Symbols Of A High Romance, And Think That I May Never Live To Trace Their Shadows, With The Magic Hand Of Chance.

Let Us Open Our Leaves Like A Flower, And Be Passive And Receptive.

Through The Dancing Poppies Stole A Breeze, Most Softly Lulling To My Soul.

Blessed Is The Healthy Nature; It Is The Coherent, Sweetly Co-operative, Not Incoherent, Self-distracting, Self-destructive One!

I Have Nothing To Speak Of But My Self-and What Can I Say But What I Feel.