Ah! Never Shall The Land Forget.

The Melancholy Days Are Come, The Saddest Of The Year, Of Wailing Winds, And Naked Woods And Meadows Brown And Sear.

I Grieve For Life's Bright Promise, Just Shown And Then Withdrawn.

The Fiercest Agonies Have Shortest Reign; And After Dreams Of Horror, Comes Again The Welcome Morning With Its Rays Of Peace.

Eloquence Is The Poetry Of Prose.

The Breath Of Springtime At This Twilight Hour Comes Through The Gathering Glooms, And Bears The Stolen Sweets Of Many A Flower Into My Silent Rooms.