From A Poor Man, Poor In Time,

Oh Call It By Some Better Name, For Friendship Sounds Too Cold.

Separate From The Pleasure Of Your Company, I Don't Much Care If I Never See Another Mountain In My Life.

The Measure Of Choosing Well, Is, Whether A Man Likes And Finds Good In What He Has Chosen.

Oft In The Stilly Night, Ere Slumber's Chain Has Bound Me, Fond Memory Brings The Light Of Other Days Around Me; The Smiles, The Tears, Of Boyhood's Years, The Words Of Love Then Spoken; The Eyes That Shone Now Dimmed And Gone, The Cheerful Hearts Now Broken.

Man, While He Loves, Is Never Quite Depraved.