No sun--no moon!
No morn--no noon!
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--

Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly, 
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that youever did espy; 
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, 
And I've a many curious things to show when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain, 
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again." 

As summer into autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
"The summer" than "the autumn," lest
We turn the sun away.

A shaded lamp and a waving blind,
And the beat of a clock from a distant floor:
On this scene enter--winged, horned, and spined -
A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore;
While 'mid my page there idly stands
A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . .

Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.

Ourselves were wed one summer - dear
Your Vision - was in June
And when Your little Lifetime failed,
I wearied - too - of mine