Throw Not My Words Away,

I Lost The Love Of Heaven Above I Spurned The Lust Of Earth Below I Felt The Sweets Of Fancied Love And Hell Itself My Only Foe.

Throw Not My Words Away, As Many Do;they're Gold In Value, Though They're Cheap To You.

If Life Had A Second Edition, How I Would Correct The Proofs.

So Dull And Dark Are The November Days. The Lazy Mist High Up The Evening Curled, And Now The Morn Quite Hides In Smoke And Haze; The Place We Occupy Seems All The World.

In Mid-wood Silence, Thus, How Sweet To Be; Where All The Noises, That On Peace Intrude, Come From The Chittering Cricket, Bird, And Bee, Whose Songs Have Charms To Sweeten Solitude.