That Gracious Thing, Made Up Of Tears

Nothing Is As Contagious As Enthusiasm. It Is The Real Allegory Of The Myth Of Orpheus; It Moves Stones, And Charms Brutes. It Is The Genius Of Sincerity, And Truth Accomplishes No Victories Without It.

That Agony Returns; And Till My Ghastly Tale Is Told, This Heart Within Me Burns.

O It Is Pleasant, With A Heart At Ease, Just After Sunset, Or By Moonlight Skies, To Make The Shifting Clouds Be What You Please.

When Thieves Come, I Bark; When Gallants, I Am Still - So Perform Both My Master's And Mistress's Will.

The One Red Leaf, The Last Of Its Clan, That Dances As Often As Dance It Can, Hanging So Light, And Hanging So High, On The Topmost Twig That Looks Up At The Sky.