Does Not The Latent Feeling

Solitude Is Very Sad, Too Much Company Twice As Bad.

One Who Can See Without Seeming To See-- That's An Observer As Good As Three.

Writing Is Learning To Say Nothing, More Cleverly Every Day.

Yet Dearer Still That Irish Hill Than All The World Beside; It's Home, Sweet Home, Where'er I Roam, Through Lands And Waterswide.

Fairies, Arouse! Mix With Your Song Harplet And Pipe, Thrilling And Clear, Swarm On The Boughs! Chant In A Throng! Morning Is Ripe, Waiting To Hear.