The Days Of Peace And Slumberous Calm

In The Long Vista Of The Years To Roll,\ Let Me Not See My Country's Honor Fade;\ Oh! Let Me See Our Land Retain Its Soul!\ Her Pride In Freedom, And Not Freedom's Shade.

Season Of Mists And Mellow Fruitfulness, Close Bosom-friend Of The Maturing Sun; Conspiring With Him How To Load And Bless With Fruit The Vines That Round The Thatch-eves Run; To Bend With Apples The Moss’d Cottage-trees, And Fill All Fruit With Ripeness To The Core; To Swell The Gourd, And Plump The Hazel Shells With A Sweet Kernel; To Set Budding More, And Still More, Later Flowers For The Bees, Until They Think Warm Days Will Never Cease, For Summer Has O’er-brimm’d Their Clammy Cells.

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?

I Have Two Luxuries To Brood Over In My Walks, Your Loveliness And The Hour Of My Death. O That I Could Have Possession Of Them Both In The Same Minute.

You Cannot Conceive How I Ache To Be With You: How I Would Die For One Hour.