To this World she returned.
But with a tinge of that —
A Compound manner,
As a Sod
Espoused a Violet,

That chiefer to the Skies
Than to Himself, allied,
Dwelt hesitating, half of Dust
And half of Day, the Bride.

I came across a treasure today. Might not seem like much to someone in America or Europe, but to get hold of a copy of an actual book of poetry is a rare treasure in Kenya. At the free book bin of the local market, no less. The layout and spacing is atrocious, someone marked up a few poems, but on the whole, phenomenal.

In italics are several of my favorites so far.

Impossibility, like Wine
Exhilarates the Man
Who tastes it; Possibility
Is flavorless — Combine
A Chance’s faintest Tincture
And in the former Dram
Enchantment makes ingredient
As certainly as Doom -