A Man That's Fond Precociously

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.

Peace And Rest At Length Have Come, All The Day's Long Toil Is Past; And Each Heart Is Whispering, "home, Home At Last!"

He Lies Like A Hedgehog Rolled Up The Wrong Way, Tormenting Himself With His Prickles.

The Lily Is All In White, Like A Saint, And So Is No Mate For Me.

A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring , :;:; Must Be A Spoon.