'tis A Month Before The Month Of

Rage Is Essentially Vulgar.

The Sense Of Beauty Is Intuitive, And Beauty Itself Is All That Inspires Pleasure Without, And Aloof From, And Even Contrarily To Interest.

Iambics March From Short To Long;-- With A Leap And A Bound The Swift Anapaests Throng

Come, Come Thou Bleak December Wind, And Blow The Dry Leaves From The Tree! Flash, Like A Love-thought, Thro'me, Death And Take A Life That Wearies Me.

Flowers Are Lovely; Love Is Flower-like; Friendship Is A Sheltering Tree; Oh The Joys That Came Down Shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, And Liberty, Ere I Was Old!