What I Have Left Is From My

All The Learn'd Are Cowards By Profession.

If You Have Lived, Take Thankfully The Past. Make, As You Can, The Sweet Remembrance Last.

A Lazy Frost, A Numbness Of The Mind.

Zeal, The Blind Conductor Of The Will.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.