Gorgonised me from head to foot With a stony British stare.

All precious things, discover’d late, To those that seek them issue forth,

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.

Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.

Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can

Love is hurt with jar and fret; Love is made a vague regret.

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.

Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there