Boughs Are Daily Rifled By The Gusty

The Biggest Bore Of All Is He Who Is Overflowing With Congratulations

Our Very Hopes Belied Our Fears, Our Fears Our Hopes Belied; We Thought Her Dying When She Slept, And Sleeping When She Died.

We Watch'd Her Breathing Through The Night, Her Breathing Soft And Low, As In Her Breast The Wave Of Life Kept Heaving To And Fro.

What Is A Modern Poet's Fate? / To Write His Thoughts Upon A Slate; / The Critic Spits On What Is Done, / Gives It A Wipe - And All Is Gone.

I Remember, I Remember The Roses, Red And White, The Violets, And The Lily-cups, Those Flowers Made Of Light! The Lilacs, Where The Robin Built, And Where My Brother Set The Laburmum On His Birthday,- The Tree Is Living Yet.