I Confess That I Love Him, I

Victory Comes Late-- And Is Held Low To Freezing Lips-- Too Rapt With Frost To Take It

And You Dropt, Lost, When Something Broke-- And Let You From A Dream

How Much Can Come And Much Can Go, And Yet Abide The World!

The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were, The Nuts Are Getting Brown; The Berry's Cheek Is Plumper, The Rose Is Out Of Town. The Maple Wears A Gayer Scarf, The Field A Scarlet Gown. Lest I Should Be Old-fashioned, I'll Put A Trinket On.

You'll Find It-when You Try To Die- The Easier To Let Go- For Recollecting Such As Went- You Could Not Spare-you Know.