Solitude Is Very Sad, Too Much Company

I Have Been An "official" All My Life, Without The Least Turn For It. I Never Could Attain A True Official Manner, Which Is Highly Artificial And Handles Trifles With Ludicrously Disproportionate Gravity.

Ring-ting! I Wish I Were A Primrose, A Bright Yellow Primrose Blowing In The Spring! The Stooping Boughs Above Me, The Wandering Bee To Love Me, The Fern And Moss To Creep Across, And The Elm-tree For Our King!

Oh, Bring Again My Heart's Content, Thou Spirit Of The Summer-time!

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

Winds And Waters Keepa Hush More Dead Than Any Sleep.