This World Has Suns, But They Are

If Life Had A Second Edition, How I Would Correct The Proofs.

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod;... There To Abide With My Creator, God.

I Live Here Among The Ignorant Like A Lost Man In Fact Like One Whom The Rest Seems Careless Of Having Anything To Do With — They Hardly Dare Talk In My Company For Fear I Shoud Mention Them In My Writings & I Find More Pleasure In Wandering The Fields Then In Mixing Among My Silent Neighbours Who Are Insensible Of Everything But Toiling & Talking Of It & That To No Purpose.

The Thorn Tree Just Began To Bud And Greening Stained The Sheltering Hedge, An Many A Violet Beside The Wood Peeped Blue Between The Withered Sedge; The Sun Gleamed Warm The Bank Beside, 'twas Pleasant Wandering Out A While Neath Nestling Bush To Lonely Hide, Or Bend A Musings O'er A Stile.

While Snow The Window-panes Bedim, The Fire Curls Up A Sunny Charm, Where, Creaming O'er The Pitcher's Rim, The Flowering Ale Is Set To Warm; Mirth, Full Of Joy As Summer Bees, Sits There, Its Pleasures To Impart, And Children, 'tween Their Parent's Knees, Sing Scraps Of Carols O'er By Heart.