Burning Hot Is The Ground,

I Am The Self-consumer Of My Woes.

I Hid My Love When Young Till I Couldn't Bear The Buzzing Of A Fly; I Hid My Life To My Despite Till I Could Not Bear To Look At Light: I Dare Not Gaze Upon Her Face But Left Her Memory In Each Place; Where'er I Saw A Wild Flower Lie I Kissed And Bade My Love Good-bye.

Still, I Have Been No One's Enemy But My Own. My Easy Nature, Either In Drinking Or Anything Else, Was Always Ready To Submit To Persuasions Of Profligate Companions, Who Often Led Me Into Snares.

Love Lives With Nature, Not With Lust. Go Find Her In The Flowers.

Yet Simple Souls, Their Faith It Knows No Stint: Things Least To Be Believed Are Most Preferred. All Counterfeits, As From Truth's Sacred Mint, Are Readily Believed If Once Put Down In Print