A Poet Of One Mood In All My Lays, Ranging All Life To Sing One Only Love, Like A West Wind Across The World I Move, Sweeping My Harp Of Floods Mine Own Wild Ways. The Countries Change, But Not The West-Wind Days Which Are My Songs. My Soft Skies Shine Above, And On All Seas The Colours Of A Dove, And On All Fields A Flash Of Silver Greys. I Make The Whole World Answer To My Art And Sweet Monotonous Meanings. In Your Ears I Change Not Ever, Bearing, For My Part, One Thought That Is The Treasure Of My Years, A Small Cloud Full Of Rain Upon My Heart And In Mine Arms, Clasped, Like A Child In Tears.