_The farmers’ daughters with bare arms and gowns
tucked up_ 30
_The bed whereon memory loves to lie and dream_ 40
_Memory is a capricious and arbitrary creature_ 120
_Lulling and soothing the mind into a quietude_ 162
_The same that Titian saw_ 174
_The moon slips up into the sky from behind the
Eastern hills_ 292
_If I should ever become a dryad I should choose
to be transformed into a white birch_ 304
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