My Books Kept Me From The Ring,

Lives Of Great Men Oft Remind Us As We O'er Their Pages Turn, That We Too May Leave Behind Us - Letters That We Ought To Burn.

It Was Not In The Winter Our Loving Lot Was Cast! It Was The Time Of Roses, We Plucked Them As We Passed!

I Remember, I Remember The Fir-trees Dark And High; I Used To Think Their Slender Tops Were Close Against The Sky; It Was A Childish Ignorance, But Now 't Is Little Joy To Know I'm Farther Off From Heaven Than When I Was A Boy.

No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Birds - November!

The Cowslip Is A Country Wench.