The Lily Is All In White, Like

O Bed! O Bed! Delicious Bed! That Heaven Upon Earth To The Weary Head.

Oh! God! That Bread Should Be So Dear, And Flesh And Blood So Cheap!

And There Is Even A Happiness That Makes The Heart Afraid.

Extremes Meet', As The Whiting Said With Its Tail In Its Mouth.

What Is A Modern Poet's Fate? / To Write His Thoughts Upon A Slate; / The Critic Spits On What Is Done, / Gives It A Wipe - And All Is Gone.