Like A Great Poet, Nature Produces The

At Dresden On The Elbe, That Handsome City, Where Straw Hats, Verses, And Cigars Are Made, They've Built (it Well May Make Us Feel Afraid,) A Music Club And Music Warehouse Pretty.

I Do Not Know If She Was Virtuous, But She Was Ugly, And With A Woman That Is Half The Battle.

I Live, Which Is The Main Point.

The Great Pulsation Of Nature Beats Too In My Breast, And When I Carol Aloud, I Am Answered By A Thousand-fold Echo. I Hear A Thousand Nightingales. Spring Hath Sent Them To Awaken Earth From Her Morning Slumber, And Earth Trembles With Ecstasy, Her Flowers Are Hymns, Which She Sings In Inspiration To The Sun.

It Must Require An Inordinate Share Of Vanity And Presumption, Too, After Enjoying So Much That Is Good And Beautiful On Earth, To Ask The Lord For Immortality In Addition To It All.