So Mayst Thou Live, Dear! Many Years,

Some Dreams We Have Are Nothing Else But Dreams, Unnatural And Full Of Contradictions; Yet Others Of Our Most Romantic Schemes, Are Something More Than Fictions.

How Widely Its Agencies Vary,- To Save, To Ruin, To Curse, To Bless,- As Even Its Minted Coins Express, Now Stamp'd With The Image Of Good Queen Bess, And Now Of A Bloody Mary.

Boughs Are Daily Rifled By The Gusty Thieves, And The Book Of Nature Getteth Short Of Leaves.

Father Of Rosy Day, No More Thy Clouds Of Incense Rise; But Waking Flow'rs, At Morning Hours, Give Out Their Sweets To Meet Thee In The Skies.

The Year's In Wane; There Is Nothing Adorning; The Night Has No Eve, And The Day Has No Morning; Cold Winter Gives Warning!