Love Me Sweet With All Thou Art

Suddenly, As Rare Things Will, It Vanished.

If I Leave All For Thee, Wilt Thou Exchange And Be All To Me?

Unless You Can Muse In A Crowd All Day On The Absent Face That Fixed You; Unless You Can Love, As The Angels May, With The Breadth Of Heaven Betwixt You; Unless You Can Dream That His Faith Is Fast, Through Behoving And Unbehoving; Unless You Can Die When The Dream Is Past — Oh, Never Call It Loving!

The Tyrant Should Take Heed To What He Doth, Since Every Victim-carrion Turns To Use, And Drives A Chariot, Like A God Made Wroth, Against Each Piled Injustice.

I Begin To Think That None Are So Bold As The Timid, When They Are Fairly Roused.