Oh! God! That Bread Should Be So

I Saw Old Autumn In The Misty Morn Stand Shadowless Like Silence, Listening To Silence.

Extremes Meet', As The Whiting Said With Its Tail In Its Mouth.

How Bravely Autumn Paints Upon The Sky The Gorgeous Fame Of Summer Which Is Fled!

A Certain Portion Of The Human Race Has Certainly A Taste For Being Diddled.

There Is A Silence Where Hath Been No Sound, There Is A Silence Where No Sound May Be,- In The Cold Grave, Under The Deep, Deep Sea, Or In The Wide Desert Where No Life Is Found.