Old Noted Oak! I Saw Thee In

I Never Saw So Sweet A Face. As That I Stood Before. My Heart Has Left It Dwelling Place ... And Can Return No More.

If Life Had A Second Edition, How I Would Correct The Proofs.

Language Has Not The Power To Speak What Love Indites: The Soul Lies Buried In The Ink That Writes.

Summer Is A Prodigal Of Joy. The Grass Swarms With Delighted Insects As I Pass, And Crowds Of Grasshoppers At Every Stride Jump Out All Ways With Happiness Their Guide; And From My Brushing Feet Moths Flit Away In Safer Places To Pursue Their Play. In Crowds They Start. I Marvel, Well I May, To See Such Worlds Of Insects In The Way, And More To See Each Thing, However Small, Sharing Joy's Bounty That Belongs To All. And Here I Gather, By The World Forgot, Harvests Of Comfort From Their Happy Mood, Feeling God's Blessing Dwells In Every Spot And Nothing Lives But Owes Him Gratitude.

I Am: Yet What I Am None Cares Or Knows, My Friends Forsake Me Like A Memory Lost; I Am The Self-consumer Of My Woes, They Rise And Vanish In Oblivious Host, Like Shades In Love And Death's Oblivion Lost; And Yet I Am, And Live With Shadows Tost.