Longing, It May Be, Is

To Live Is So Startling It Leaves Little Time For Anything Else.

When I State Myself, As The Representative Of The Verse, It Does Not Mean Me, But A Supposed Person.

How Softly Summer Shuts, Without The Creaking Of A Door.

Prosperity Whose Sources Are Interior. As Soon Adversity A Diamond Overtake.

The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were, The Nuts Are Getting Brown; The Berry's Cheek Is Plumper, The Rose Is Out Of Town. The Maple Wears A Gayer Scarf, The Field A Scarlet Gown. Lest I Should Be Old-fashioned, I'll Put A Trinket On.