The Best Of Friends Fall Out, And

Frost Is The Greatest Artist In Our Clime - He Paints In Nature And Describes In Rime.

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

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.

Pity It Is To Slay The Meanest Thing.

Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume: There's Crimson Buds, And White And Blue, The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turned To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers.