I Am Gennerally Understood Tho I Do

My Fears Are Agitated To An Extreme Degree And The Dread Of Death Involves Me In A Stupor Of Chilling Indisposition.

He Could Not Die When The Trees Were Green, For He Loved The Time Too Well.

How Oft A Summer Shower Has Started Me; To Seek The Shelter Of A Hollow Tree

Loud Is The Summer's Busy Song The Smallest Breeze Can Find A Tongue, While Insects Of Each Tiny Size Grow Teasing With Their Melodies, Till Noon Burns With Its Blistering Breath Around, And Day Lies Still As Death.

Old April Wanes, And Her Last Dewy Morn Her Death-bed Steeps In Tears; To Hail The May New Blooming Blossoms Neath The Sun Are Born, And All Poor April's Charms Are Swept Away.