O, My Luve Is Like A Red,

A Mind That Is Conscious Of Its Integrity Scorns To Say More Than It Means To Perform.

Some Rhyme A Neebor's Name To Lash; Some Rhyme (vain Thought!) For Needfu' Cash; Some Rhyme To Court The Countra Clash, An' Raise A Din; For Me, An Aim I Never Fash; I Rhyme For Fun.

God Knows, I'm Not The Thing I Should Be, Nor Am I Even The Thing I Could Be, But Twenty Times I Rather Would Be An Atheist Clean, Than Under Gospel Colours Hid Be Just For A Screen.

The Voice Of Nature Loudly Cries,and Many A Message From The Skies,that Something In Us Never Dies.

O, Life! How Pleasant Is Thy Morning, Young Fancy's Rays The Hills Adorning! Cold Pausing Caution's Lesson Scorning, We Frisk Away, Like Schoolboys, At The Expected Warning, To Joy And Play.