There Is A Budding Morrow In Midnight.

Music's Golden Tongue Flatter'd To Tears This Aged Man And Poor.

O Fret Not After Knowledge - I Have None, And Yet My Song Comes Native With The Warmth. O Fret Not After Knowledge - I Have None, And Yet The Evening Listens.

I Shall Soon Be Laid In The Quiet Grave - Thank God For The Quiet Grave

Why Employ Intelligent And Highly Paid Ambassadors And Then Go And Do Their Work For Them? You Don't Buy A Canary And Sing Yourself.

The Poppies Hung Dew-dabbled On Their Stalks.