Crowded Places, I Shunned Them As Noises

While Snow The Window-panes Bedim, The Fire Curls Up A Sunny Charm, Where, Creaming O'er The Pitcher's Rim, The Flowering Ale Is Set To Warm; Mirth, Full Of Joy As Summer Bees, Sits There, Its Pleasures To Impart, And Children, 'tween Their Parent's Knees, Sing Scraps Of Carols O'er By Heart.

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.

The Thorn Tree Just Began To Bud And Greening Stained The Sheltering Hedge, An Many A Violet Beside The Wood Peeped Blue Between The Withered Sedge; The Sun Gleamed Warm The Bank Beside, 'twas Pleasant Wandering Out A While Neath Nestling Bush To Lonely Hide, Or Bend A Musings O'er A Stile.

I Was Byron And Shakespeare Formerly.

I Lost The Love Of Heaven Above I Spurned The Lust Of Earth Below I Felt The Sweets Of Fancied Love And Hell Itself My Only Foe.