No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No

With Fingers Weary And Worn, With Eyelids Heavy And Red, A Woman Sat In Unwomanly Rags, Plying Her Needle And Thread.

Frost Is The Greatest Artist In Our Clime - He Paints In Nature And Describes In Rime.

Dear Bells! How Sweet The Sound Of Village Bells When On The Undulating Air They Swim!

How Bravely Autumn Paints Upon The Sky The Gorgeous Fame Of Summer Which Is Fled!

The Best Of Friends Fall Out, And So His Teeth Had Done Some Years Ago.