The Present Is The Funeral Of The

Yet Simple Souls, Their Faith It Knows No Stint: Things Least To Be Believed Are Most Preferred. All Counterfeits, As From Truth's Sacred Mint, Are Readily Believed If Once Put Down In Print

Now Summer Is In Flower And Natures Hum Is Never Silent Round Her Sultry Bloom Insects As Small As Dust Are Never Done Wi' Glittering Dance And Reeling In The Sun And Green Wood Fly And Blossom Haunting Bee Are Never Weary Of Their Melody Round Field Hedge Now Flowers In Full Glory Twine Large Bindweed Bells Wild Hop And Streakd Woodbine That Lift Athirst Their Slender Throated Flowers Agape For Dew Falls And For Honey Showers These Round Each Bush In Sweet Disorder Run And Spread Their Wild Hues To The Sultry Sun.

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod; A Place Where Woman Never Smil'd Or Wept; There To Abide With My Creator, God, And Sleep As I In Childhood Sweetly Slept: Untroubling And Untroubled Where I Lie; The Grass Below--above The Vaulted Sky.

Loud Is The Summer's Busy Song The Smallest Breeze Can Find A Tongue, While Insects Of Each Tiny Size Grow Teasing With Their Melodies, Till Noon Burns With Its Blistering Breath Around, And Day Lies Still As Death.

Language Has Not The Power To Speak What Love Indites: The Soul Lies Buried In The Ink That Writes.