As If The World And They Were

O Winter! Ruler Of The Inverted Year, . . . I Crown Thee King Of Intimate Delights, Fireside Enjoyments, Home-born Happiness, And All The Comforts That The Lowly Roof Of Undisturbed Retirement, And The Hours Of Long Uninterrupted Evening, Know.

We Bear Our Shades About Us; Self-deprived Of Other Screen, The Thin Umbrella Spread, And Range An Indian Waste Without A Tree.

When I Thinkof My Own Native Land, In A Moment I Seem To Be There; But Alas! Recollection At Hand Soon Hurries Me Back To Despair.

Come, Evening, Once Again, Season Of Peace; Return, Sweet Evening, And Continue Long! Methinks I See Thee In The Streaky West, With Matron Step, Slow Moving, While The Night Treads On Thy Sweeping Train; One Hand Employ'd In Letting Fall The Curtain Of Repose On Bird And Beast, The Other Charged For Man With Sweet Oblivion Of The Cares Of Day.

An Epigram Is But A Feeble Thing - With Straw In Tail, Stuck There By Way Of Sting.