“DWELL here three sad sweet spirits : Perfume born
Of fading Rose-leaves, visions of The Thorn
Behind each Flower of Joy in Life’s Bouquet,
And one long Sigh we make too oft to scorn.
A HAIR perhaps divides the False and True;” ‘
Or False or True thy Verses, we this due
Of meed bestow on One most bitter-sweet :
We read . . . → Read More: We Read and Dream
