My Tears Must Stop, For

No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Birds - November!

How Bravely Autumn Paints Upon The Sky The Gorgeous Fame Of Summer Which Is Fled!

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

Well, Something Must Be Done For May, The Time Is Drawing Nigh-- To Figure In The Catalogue, And Woo The Public Eye. Something I Must Invent And Paint; But Oh My Wit Is Not Like One Of Those Kind Substantives That Answer Who And What?

How Widely Its Agencies Vary,- To Save, To Ruin, To Curse, To Bless,- As Even Its Minted Coins Express, Now Stamp'd With The Image Of Good Queen Bess, And Now Of A Bloody Mary.