Farewell! Thou Art Too Dear For My

The Earth, That Is Nature's Mother, Is Her Tomb.

So Shalt Thou Feed On Death, That Feeds On Men.

Heaven Would That She These Gifts Should Have, And I To Live And Die Her Slave.

Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit Than A Christian Or An Ordinary Man Has; But I Am A Great Eater Of Beef, And I Believe That Does Harm To My Wit.

And This, Our Life, Exempt From Public Haunt, Finds Tongues In Trees, Books In The Running Brooks, Sermons In Stones, And Good In Everything.