Made Poetry A Mere Mechanic Art.

Th' Embroid'ry Of Poetic Dreams.

Pernicious Weed! Whose Scent The Fair Annoys, Unfriendly To Society's Chief Joys: Thy Worst Effect Is Banishing For Hours The Sex Whose Presence Civilizes Ours.

No Tree In All The Grove But Has Its Charms, Though Each Its Hue Peculiar.

Go, Mark The Matchless Working Of The Power That Shuts Within The Seed The Future Flower; Bids These In Elegance Of Form Excel. In Color These, And Those Delight The Smell; Sends Nature Forth, The Daughter Of The Skies, To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes.

Toil For The Brave! The Brave That Are No More.