'That sotto voce cons the song
He'll sing when dark is spread;
And Night's vague hours are sweet and long.
And we are laid abed.'
THE IMAGINATION'S PRIDE
BE not too wildly amorous of the far,
Nor lure thy fantasy to its utmost scope.
Read by a taper when the needling star
Burns red with menace in heaven's midnight cope.
Friendly thy body: guard its solitude.