To see her is a picture—To hear her is a tune—To know her an IntemperanceAs innocent as June—To know her not—Affliction—To own her for a FriendA warmth as near as if the SunWere shining in your Hand.

Twas my one glory -Let it be RememberedI was owned of Thee.

The Poets light but Lamps-Themselves-go out-

Who counts the wampum of the night to see that none is due?

Fame is the one that does not stayIt's occupant must dieOr out of sight of estimateAscend incessantlyOr be that most insolvent thingA Lightning in the GermElectrical the embryoBut we demand the Flame

The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear; Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year.And then, that we have followed them We more than half suspect, So intimate have we become With their dear retrospect.

In snow thou comestThou shalt go with resuming groundThe sweet derision of thx crowAnd Glee's advancing sound

In lands I never saw, they say, Immortal Alps look down,Whose bonnets touch the firmament,Whose sandals touch the town, ―Meek at whose everlasting feetA myriad daisies play.Which, sir, are you, and which am I.Upon an August day?

We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.