What Will The Solemn Hemlock- What Will

If Fame Belonged To Me, I Could Not Escape Her; If She Did Not, The Longest Day Would Pass Me On The Chase, And The Approbation Of My Dog Would Forsake Me.

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die.

I Never Saw A Moor, I Never Saw The Sea; Yet Know I How The Heather Looks, And What A Wave Must Be. I Never Spoke With God, Nor Visited In Heaven; Yet Certain Am I Of The Spot, As If A Chart Were Given.

The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were, The Nuts Are Getting Brown; The Berry's Cheek Is Plumper, The Rose Is Out Of Town. The Maple Wears A Gayer Scarf, The Field A Scarlet Gown. Lest I Should Be Old-fashioned, I'll Put A Trinket On.

Each That We Lose Takes A Part Of Us; A Crescent Still Abides, Which Like The Moon, Some Turbid Night, Is Summoned By The Tides.