Not Deep The Poet Sees, But Wide.

Is It So Small A Thing To Have Enjoyed The Sun, To Have Lived Light In The Sky, To Have Loved, To Have Thought, To Have Done?

Most Men Eddy About Here And There-eat And Drink, Chatter And Love And Hate, Gather And Squander, Are Raised Aloft, Are Hurled In The Dust, Striving Blindly, Achieving Nothing; And Then They Die- Perish;-and No One Asks Who Or What They Have Been.

Thought And Science Follow Their Own Law Of Development; They Are Slowly Elaborated In The Growth And Forward Pressure Of Humanity, In What Shakespeare Calls ...the Prophetic Soul, Of The Wide World Dreaming On Things To Come.

Come To Me In My Dreams, And Then By Day I Shall Be Well Again. For Then The Night Will More Than Pay The Hopeless Longing Of The Day.

The Heart Less Bounding At Emotion New, The Hope, Once Crushed, Less Quick To Spring Again.