Pale January Lay In Its

Exclusiveness In A Garden Is A Mistake As Great As It Is In Society.

The Bright Incarnate Spirit Of The Morn.

In Vain Would Science Scan And Trace Firmly Her Aspect. All The While, There Gleams Upon Her Far-off Face A Vague Unfathomable Smile.

Tears Are Summer Showers To The Soul.

From Sunny Woof And Cloudy Weft Fell Rain In Sheets; So, To Myself I Hummed These Hazard Rhymes, And Left The Learned Volume On The Shelf.