Throw Not My Words Away, As Many

For Nature Is Love, And Finds Haunts For True Love, Where Nothing Can Hear Or Intrude; It Hides From The Eagle And Joins With The Dove, In Beautiful Green Solitude.

The Snow Has Left The Cottage Top; The Thatch Moss Grows In Brighter Green; And Eaves In Quick Succession Drop, Where Grinning Icicles Have Been, Pit-patting With A Pleasant Noise In Tubs Set By The Cottage Door; While Duck And Geese, With Happy Joys, Plunge In The Yard Pond Brimming Over. The Sun Peeps Through The Window Pane: Which Children Mark With Laughing Eye, And In The Wet Street Steal Again To Tell Each Other Spring Is Night.

Old Noted Oak! I Saw Thee In A Mood Of Vague Indifference; And Yet With Me Thy Memory, Like Thy Fate, Hath Lingering Stood For Years, Thou Hermit, In The Lonely Sea Of Grass That Waves Around Thee!

Burning Hot Is The Ground, Liquid Gold Is The Air; Whoever Looks Round Sees Eternity There.

Throw Not My Words Away, As Many Do;they're Gold In Value, Though They're Cheap To You.