Where Soil Is, Men Grow,

To Stay Youthful, Stay Useful.

I Almost Wish We Were Butterflies And Liv'd But Three Summer Days - Three Such Days With You I Could Fill With More Delight Than Fifty Common Years Could Ever Contain.

All Clean And Comfortable I Sit Down To Write.

When I Behold, Upon The Night's Starr'd Face, Huge Cloudy Symbols Of A High Romance, And Think That I May Never Live To Trace Their Shadows, With The Magic Hand Of Chance.

But Let Me See Thee Stoop From Heaven On Wings That Fill The Sky With Silver Glitterings!