NOT drowsihood and dreams and mere idless,
Nor yet the blessedness of strength regained,
Alone are in what men call sleep. The past,
My unsuspected soul, my parentsâ?? voice, ...
I SAW a picture once by Angelo.
â??Unfinished,â? said the critic; â??done in youth;â?
And that was all, no thought of praise, forsooth!
He was informed, and doubtless it was so. ...
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!
