I Remember, I Remember, The

The Year's In Wane; There Is Nothing Adorning; The Night Has No Eve, And The Day Has No Morning; Cold Winter Gives Warning!

Frost Is The Greatest Artist In Our Clime - He Paints In Nature And Describes In Rime.

Some Minds Improve By Travel, Others, Rather, Resemble Copper Wire, Or Brass, Which Get The Narrower By Going Farther.

Oh Would I Were Dead Now, Or Up In My Bed Now, To Cover My Head Now, And Have A Good Cry!

What Is Mind? No Matter. What Is Matter? Never Mind. What Is The Soul? It Is Immaterial.