Ah, Never Shall The Land Forget How

The Melancholy Days Are Come, The Saddest Of The Year, Of Wailing Winds, And Naked Woods And Meadows Brown And Sear.

Still Sweet With Blossoms Is The Year's Fresh Prime.

That Make The Meadows Green; And, Poured Round All, Old Ocean's Gray And Melancholy Waste,-- Are But The Solemn Decorations All Of The Great Tomb Of Man.

Truth Crushed To The Earth Will Rise Again!

Maidens Hearts Are Always Soft: Would That Men's Were Truer!