A Schoolboy's Tale, The Wonder Of An

Ah, Happy Years! Once More Who Would Not Be A Boy?

So Bright The Tear In Beauty's Eye, Love Half Regrets To Kiss It Dry.

If I Don't Write To Empty My Mind, I Go Mad. As To That Regular, Uninterrupted Love Of Writing. I Do Not Understand It. I Feel It As A Torture, Which I Must Get Rid Of, But Never As A Pleasure. On The Contrary, I Think Composition A Great Pain.

Muse Of The Many Twinkling Feet, Whose Charms Are Now Extending Up From Legs To Arms.

Mark! Where His Carnage And His Conquests Cease, He Makes A Solitude And Calls It-peace!