We Watch'd Her Breathing Through The Night,

I Saw Old Autumn In The Misty Morn Stand Shadowless Like Silence, Listening To Silence, For No Lonely Bird Would Sing Into His Hollow Ear From Woods Forlorn, Nor Lowly Hedge Nor Solitary Thorn;- Shaking His Languid Locks All Dewy Bright With Tangled Gossamer That Fell By Night, Pearling His Coronet Of Golden Corn.

It Was A Childish Ignorance, But Now 'tis Little Joy To Know I'm Further Off From Heaven Than When I Was A Boy.

When Was Ever Honey Made With One Bee In A Hive?

When He Is Forsaken, Withered And Shaken, What Can An Old Man Do But Die?

Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.