Ah, Words Are Poor Receipts

I Never Saw So Sweet A Face. As That I Stood Before. My Heart Has Left It Dwelling Place ... And Can Return No More.

So Dull And Dark Are The November Days. The Lazy Mist High Up The Evening Curled, And Now The Morn Quite Hides In Smoke And Haze; The Place We Occupy Seems All The World.

Old April Wanes, And Her Last Dewy Morn Her Death-bed Steeps In Tears; To Hail The May New Blooming Blossoms Neath The Sun Are Born, And All Poor April's Charms Are Swept Away.

Still, I Have Been No One's Enemy But My Own. My Easy Nature, Either In Drinking Or Anything Else, Was Always Ready To Submit To Persuasions Of Profligate Companions, Who Often Led Me Into Snares.

Tasteful Illumination Of The Night, Bright Scattered, Twinkling Star Of Spangled Earth.