Mere Contemplations

When you fall asleep in the evening, sans fear for the rigid darkness You go horseback riding through your dreams right to the meadows of esteem When the hunger sweeps the night In another red wine blight All my grief and all the believes that I neve

A precious, mouldering pleasure 'tis to meet an antique book, in just the dress his century wore; a privilege, I think, His (venerable) hand to take, and warming in our own, a passage back, or two, to make to times when he was young. His quaint opini

So many a glorious morn have I seen the sun gracing the mountain-tops with its light kissing with tender lips the meadows green gilding pale streams of alchemy with heavenly blight Even as my sun one early morn did shine with all its triumphant splen