No Matter Where The Body Is, The

Pleasure's A Moth, That Sleeps By Day And Dances By False Glare At Night; But Joy's A Butterfly, That Loves To Spread Its Wings In Nature's Light.

I Cannot See The Short, White Curls Upon The Forehead Of An Ox, But What I See Them Dripping With That Poor Thing's Blood, And Hear The Ax; When I See Calves And Lambs, I See Them Led To Death; I See No Bird Or Rabbit Cross The Open Field But What A Sudden Shot Is Heard; A Shout That Tells Me Men Aim True, For Death Or Wound, Doth Chill Me Through.

And Hear The Pleasant Cockoo, Loud And Long - The Simple Bird That Thinks Two Notes A Song.

I Love Thee For A Heart That’s Kind--not For The Knowledge In Thy Mind.

Peace To These Little Broken Leaves, That Strew Our Common Ground; That Chase Their Tails, Like Silly Dogs, As They Go Round And Round. For Though In Winter Boughs Are Bare, Let Us Not Once Forget Their Summer Glory, When These Leaves Caught The Great Sun In Their Strong Net; And Made Him, In The Lower Air, Tremble - No Bigger Than A Star!