Ah, Words Are Poor Receipts

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

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!

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod;... There To Abide With My Creator, God.

He Could Not Die When The Trees Were Green, For He Loved The Time Too Well.

And What Is Life? - An Hour-glass On The Run