Sweet Are The Little Brooks

It Was A Childish Ignorance, But Now 'tis Little Joy To Know I'm Further 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.

O Bed! O Bed! Delicious Bed! That Heaven Upon Earth To The Weary Head.

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright And Yellow, Hard And Cold!

Boughs Are Daily Rifled By The Gusty Thieves, And The Book Of Nature Getteth Short Of Leaves.