I Ne'er Was Struck Before That Hour

The Present Is The Funeral Of The Past, And Man The Living Sepulchre Of Life.

In Mid-wood Silence, Thus, How Sweet To Be; Where All The Noises, That On Peace Intrude, Come From The Chittering Cricket, Bird, And Bee, Whose Songs Have Charms To Sweeten Solitude.

I Was Byron And Shakespeare Formerly.

I Ne'er Was Struck Before That Hour With Love So Sudden And So Sweet. Her Face It Bloomed Like A Sweet Flower And Stole My Heart Away Complete

To-morrow Comes, True Copy Of To-day,and Empty Shadow Of What Is To Be;yet Cheated Hope On Future Still Depends,and Ends But Only When Our Being Ends.