Gorgeous Flowerets In The Sunlight Shining, Blossoms

O Ye Dead Poets, Who Are Living Still Immortal In Your Verse, Though Life Be Fled, And Ye, O Living Poets, Who Are Dead Though Ye Are Living, If Neglect Can Kill, Tell Me If In The Darkest Hours Of Ill, With Drops Of Anguish Falling Fast And Red From The Sharp Crown Of Thorns Upon Your Head, Ye Were Not Glad Your Errand To Fulfill?

Torrent Of Light And River Of Air, Along Whose Bed The Glimmering Stars Are Seen, Like Gold And Silver Sands In Some Ravine Where Mountain Streams Have Left Their Channels Bare!

Stay, Stay At Home, My Heart And Rest; Home-keeping Hearts Are Happiest.

Gone Are The Birds That Were Our Summer Guests.

O, Though Oft Oppressed And Lonely, All My Fears Are Laid Aside, If I But Remember Only Such As These Have Lived And Died!