The Autumn Is Old; The Sere Leaves

Oh, If It Be To Choose And Call Thee Mine, Love, Thou Art Every Day My Valentine!

No Blessed Leisure For Love Or Hope, But Only Time For Grief.

There's A Double Beauty Whenever A Swan Swims On A Lake With Her Double Thereon.

She Stood Breast-high Amid The Corn Clasp'd By The Golden Light Of Morn, Like The Sweetheart Of The Sun, Who Many A Glowing Kiss Had Won.

We Watch'd Her Breathing Through The Night, Her Breathing Soft And Low, As In Her Breast The Wave Of Life Kept Heaving To And Fro.