Give Me To Drink Mandragora.

Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth Or Anger

My Way Of Life Is Fall'n Into The Sear And Yellow Leaf.

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.

Give Sorrow Words; The Grief That Does Not Speak Knits Up The O-er Wrought Heart And Bids It Break.

All Gold And Silver Rather Turn To Dirt, An 'tis No Better Reckoned But Of These Who Worship Dirty Gods.