I Resolved That, Like The

The Autumn Is Old; The Sere Leaves Are Flying; He Hath Gather'd Up Gold, And Now He Is Dying;- Old Age, Begin Sighing!

Some Dreams We Have Are Nothing Else But Dreams, Unnatural And Full Of Contradictions; Yet Others Of Our Most Romantic Schemes, Are Something More Than Fictions.

Dear Bells! How Sweet The Sound Of Village Bells When On The Undulating Air They Swim!

She Stood Breast-high Amid The Corn Clasp'd By The Golden Light Of Morn, Like The Sweetheart Of The Sun, Who Many A Glowing Kiss Had Won.

Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.