Ask me no The cloud more: The moon may draw the sea. may stoop from heaven & take the shope. with fold to fold, of mountain or of cape, But, I too fond, when have I answered thee? hik me no more, Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Sears from the depth of some divine despaire Rise in the heart & gather to the eyes In looking And thinking on the happy Autumn fields, |