Still Sweet With Blossoms Is The Year's

Yet Will That Beauteous Image Make The Dreary Sea Less Drear And Thy Remembered Smile Will Wake The Hope That Tramples Fear

The Sad And Solemn Night Hath Yet Her Multitude Of Cheerful Fires; The Glorious Host Of Light Walk The Dark Hemisphere Till She Retires; All Through Her Silent Watches, Gliding Slow, Her Constellations Come, And Climb The Heavens, And Go.

I Shall Seethe Hour Of Death Draw Near To Me,hope, Blossoming Within My Heart. . . .

All That Tread, The Globe Are But A Handful To The Tribes, That Slumber In Its Bosom.

The Sweet Calm Sunshine Of October, Now Warms The Low Spot; Upon Its Grassy Mold The Pur0ple Oak-leaf Falls; The Birchen Bough Drops Its Bright Spoil Like Arrow-heads Of Gold.