Our sanguine heart back from the fancyland

But angels, leaning from the golden seat,

The issue of completed 九九藏书网cadences,

EXPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holds

Are not so minded their fine ear hath won

Whence harmonies, we cannot understand,

With nightingales in visionar九-九-藏-书-网y wolds.

We murmur Where is any certain tune

SWEET.

A dulcimer of patience in his hand,

Fall on us while we藏书网 hear, and countermand

Or measured music in such notes as these ?

Of God; 九九藏书网will in his worlds, the strain unfolds

In sad-perplexed minors: deathly colds

And, smiling down the stars, they whisper--