Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright And Yellow, Hard And Cold!

A Moment's Thinking Is An Hour In Words.

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

Frost Is The Greatest Artist In Our Clime - He Paints In Nature And Describes In Rime.

It Was Not In The Winter Our Loving Lot Was Cast! It Was The Time Of Roses, We Plucked Them As We Passed!