I Saw Old Autumn In The Misty

I Remember, I Remember, The House Where I Was Born, The Little Window Where The Sun Came Peeping In At Morn.

Pity It Is To Slay The Meanest Thing.

My Books Kept Me From The Ring, The Dog-pit, The Tavern, And The Saloon.

Frost Is The Greatest Artist In Our Clime - He Paints In Nature And Describes In Rime.

There Is A Silence Where Hath Been No Sound, There Is A Silence Where No Sound May Be,- In The Cold Grave, Under The Deep, Deep Sea, Or In The Wide Desert Where No Life Is Found.