The Best Of Friends Fall Out, And

Father Of Rosy Day, No More Thy Clouds Of Incense Rise; But Waking Flow'rs, At Morning Hours, Give Out Their Sweets To Meet Thee In The Skies.

The Moon, The Moon, So Silver And Cold, Her Fickle Temper Has Oft Been Told, Now Shade--now Bright And Sunny-- But Of All The Lunar Things That Change, The One That Shows Most Fickle And Strange, And Takes The Most Eccentric Range, Is The Moon--so Called--of Honey!

For Man May Pious Texts Repeat, And Yet Religion Have No Inward Seat

The Best Of Friends Fall Out, And So His Teeth Had Done Some Years Ago.

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