Two things of opposite natures seem to depend On one another, as a man depends On a woman, day on night, the imagined On the real. This is the origin of change. Winter and spring, cold copulars, embrace And forth the particulars of rapture come.

Nothing had happened because nothing had changed. Yet the General was rubbish in the end.

Music falls on the silence like a sense, A passion that we feel, not understand.

The right, uplifted foreleg of the horse Suggested that, at the final funeral, The music halted and the horse stood still.

You know the day destroys the night, Night divides the day, Tried to run - Tried to hide - Break on through to the other side!

I do not see why I should e'er turn back, Or those should not set forth upon my track To overtake me, who should miss me here And long to know if still I held …

The ladies of St. James's! They're painted to the eyes; Their white it stays forever Their red it never dies: But Phillida, my Phillida! Her color comes and go…