A Man That's Fond Precociously

A Moment's Thinking Is An Hour In Words.

When Was Ever Honey Made With One Bee In A Hive?

No Blessed Leisure For Love Or Hope, But Only Time For Grief.

How Bravely Autumn Paints Upon The Sky The Gorgeous Fame Of Summer Which Is Fled!

Well, Something Must Be Done For May, The Time Is Drawing Nigh-- To Figure In The Catalogue, And Woo The Public Eye. Something I Must Invent And Paint; But Oh My Wit Is Not Like One Of Those Kind Substantives That Answer Who And What?