My Brain Is Dull, My

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

I Remember, I Remember The Fir-trees Dark And High; I Used To Think Their Slender Tops Were Close Against The Sky; It Was A Childish Ignorance, But Now 't Is Little Joy To Know I'm Farther Off From Heaven Than When I Was A Boy.

The Lily Is All In White, Like A Saint, And So Is No Mate For Me.

The Quaker Loves An Ample Brim, A Hat That Bows To No Salaam; And Dear The Beaver Is To Him As If It Never Made A Dam.

Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume: There's Crimson Buds, And White And Blue, The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turned To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers.