I Am The Self-consumer Of My Woes.

Tasteful Illumination Of The Night, Bright Scattered, Twinkling Star Of Spangled Earth.

I Was Byron And Shakespeare Formerly.

Old April Wanes, And Her Last Dewy Morn Her Death-bed Steeps In Tears; To Hail The May New Blooming Blossoms Neath The Sun Are Born, And All Poor April's Charms Are Swept Away.

To-morrow Comes, True Copy Of To-day,and Empty Shadow Of What Is To Be;yet Cheated Hope On Future Still Depends,and Ends But Only When Our Being Ends.

Forgive Me If, In Friendship’s Way, I Offer Thee A Wreath Of May.... [n]ourished By The Dews Of Heaven.... So I Have Ivy Placed Between, To Prove That Worth Is Ever Green. The Little Blue Forget-me-not... Spring’s Messenger In Every Spot, Smiling On All—"remember Me!