Some Wee Short Hour Ayont The Twal.

The Best Laid Plans Take 40 Years To Complete.

Beauty's Of A Fading Nature. Has A Season And Is Gone!

Their Sighing, Canting, Grace-proud Faces, Their Three-mile Prayers, And Half-mile Graces.

But Pleasures Are Like Poppies Spread, You Seize The Flower, It's Bloom Is Shed; Or, Like The Snow-fall In The River, A Moment White, Then Melts Forever.

't Is Sweeter For Thee Despairing Than Aught In The World Beside,-jessy!