Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/92

 But the Bride she rejected, you know, with expressions I will not repeat. Well—she did no more than all publishers did. Though my prospects were marred, I can pity and pardon them. Blindness, mere blindness! And yet it was hard. For a poet, Bill, is a blossom—a bird—a billow—a breeze— A kind of creature that moves among men as a wind among trees. I with the heat of my heart still burning against all bars As the fire of the dawn, so to speak, in the blanched blank brows of the stars— I with my tremulous lips made pale by musical breath— I with the shade in my eyes that was left by the kisses of death—