Wine Is Only Sweet To Happy Men.

Music's Golden Tongue Flatter'd To Tears This Aged Man And Poor.

Call The World If You Please "the Vale Of Soul-making." Then You Will Find Out The Use Of The World.

She Press'd His Hand In Slumber; So Once More He Could Not Help But Kiss Her And Adore.

And When Thou Art Weary I'll Find Thee A Bed, Of Mosses And Flowers To Pillow Thy Head.

The Days Of Peace And Slumberous Calm Are Fled.