It Is Finished, Is Never Said Of

I'll Tell You How The Sun Rose.

I Miss The Grasshoppers Much, But Suppose It Is All For The Best. I Should Become Too Much Attached To A Trotting World.

Spring Is The Period Express From God. Among The Other Seasons Himself Abide, But During March And April None Stir Abroad Without A Cordial Interview With God.

This Is My Letter To The World, That Never Wrote To Me, The Simple News That Nature Told, With Tender Majesty. Her Message Is Committed, To Hands I Cannot See; For Love Of Her, Sweet Countrymen, Judge Tenderly Of Me.

Banish Air From Air Divide Light If You Dare