Ah, Words Are Poor Receipts For What

The Wild Swan Hurries Hight And Noises Loud With White Neck Peering To The Evening Clowd. The Weary Rooks To Distant Woods Are Gone. With Lengths Of Tail The Magpie Winnows On To Neighbouring Tree, And Leaves The Distant Crow While Small Birds Nestle In The Edge Below.

I Was Byron And Shakespeare Formerly.

And Fairy Month Of Waking Mirth From Whom Our Joys Ensue Thou Early Gladder Of The Earth Thrice Welcome Here Anew With Thee The Bud Unfolds To Leaves The Grass Greens On The Lea And Flowers Their Tender Boon Receives To Bloom And Smile With Thee.

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

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod; A Place Where Woman Never Smil'd Or Wept; There To Abide With My Creator, God, And Sleep As I In Childhood Sweetly Slept: Untroubling And Untroubled Where I Lie; The Grass Below--above The Vaulted Sky.