O Winter, Ruler Of The Inverted Year!

Visits Are Insatiable Devourers Of Time, And Fit Only For Those Who, If They Did Not That, Would Do Nothing.

Knowledge Is Proud That It Knows So Much; Wisdom Is Humble That It Knows No More.

This Cabin, Mary, In My Sight Appears, Built As It Has Been In Our Waning Years, A Rest Afforded To Our Weary Feet, Preliminary To - The Last Retreat.

Fate Steals Along With Silent Tread, Found Oftenest In What Least We Dread; Frowns In The Storm With Angry Brow, But In The Sunshine Strikes The Blow.

Tis Pleasant, Through The Loopholes Of Retreat, To Peep At Such A World; To See The Stir Of The Great Babel, And Not Feel The Crowd.