There Is A Budding Morrow

I Will Imagine You Venus Tonight And Pray, Pray, Pray To Your Star Like A Heathen.

His Old Right Hand Lay Nerveless, Listless, Dead, Unsceptred; And His Realmless Eyes Were Closed.

Who Hath Not Seen Thee Oft Amid Thy Store? Sometimes Whoever Seeks Abroad May Find Thee Sitting Careless On A Granary Floor, Thy Hair Soft-lifted By The Winnowing Wind; Or On A Half-reap'd Furrow Sound Asleep, Drows'd With The Fume Of Poppies, While Thy Hook Spares The Next Swath And All Its Twined Flowers.

Scenery Is Fine - But Human Nature Is Finer.

In The Long Vista Of The Years To Roll,\ Let Me Not See My Country's Honor Fade;\ Oh! Let Me See Our Land Retain Its Soul!\ Her Pride In Freedom, And Not Freedom's Shade.