He ate and drank the precious words,His spirit grew robust;He knew no more that he was poor,Nor that his frame was dust.He danced along the dingy days,And this bequest of wingsWas but a book. What libertyA loosened spirit brings!

Much Madness Is Divinest SenseMuch Madness is divinest Sense —To a discerning Eye —Much Sense — the starkest Madness —'Tis the MajorityIn this, as All, prevail —Assent — and you are sane —Demur — you're straightway dangerous —And handled with a Chain —

There's a certain slant of light,On winter afternoons,That oppresses, like the weightOf cathedral tunes.

Wild Nights—Wild Nights!Were I with theeWild Nights should beOur luxury!Futile—the winds—To a heart in port—Done with the compass—Done with the chart!Rowing in Eden—Ah, the sea!Might I but moor— Tonight—In thee!

One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted — One need not be a House — The Brain has Corridors — surpassing Material Place —

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit.

Inebriate of Air — am I —And Debauchee of Dew —Reeling — thro endless summer days —From Inns of Molten Blue —

Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need.

Tell all the truth but tell it slant.