| For in and out, above, about, below, 'Tis nothing but a ... |
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| I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of th ... |
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| Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint ... |
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| And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder cr ... |
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| The Moving Finger writes and, having writ, Moves on nor ... |
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| We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shape ... |
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| A Book of Verses undeneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a ... |
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| Into this Universe, and Why not knowing Nor Whence, lik ... |
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| Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai Whose Portals are ... |
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