Ah, Words Are Poor Receipts For What

And What Is Life? - An Hour-glass On The Run

Yet Simple Souls, Their Faith It Knows No Stint: Things Least To Be Believed Are Most Preferred. All Counterfeits, As From Truth's Sacred Mint, Are Readily Believed If Once Put Down In Print

In Mid-wood Silence, Thus, How Sweet To Be; Where All The Noises, That On Peace Intrude, Come From The Chittering Cricket, Bird, And Bee, Whose Songs Have Charms To Sweeten Solitude.

For Nature Is Love, And Finds Haunts For True Love, Where Nothing Can Hear Or Intrude; It Hides From The Eagle And Joins With The Dove, In Beautiful Green Solitude.

To-morrow Comes, True Copy Of To-day,and Empty Shadow Of What Is To Be;yet Cheated Hope On Future Still Depends,and Ends But Only When Our Being Ends.