I Never Saw So Sweet A Face.

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.

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

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

Love Lives With Nature, Not With Lust. Go Find Her In The Flowers.

Still, I Have Been No One's Enemy But My Own. My Easy Nature, Either In Drinking Or Anything Else, Was Always Ready To Submit To Persuasions Of Profligate Companions, Who Often Led Me Into Snares.