Life Is But A Day; A Fragile

I Have Nothing To Speak Of But My Self-and What Can I Say But What I Feel.

No Sooner Had I Stepp'd Into These Pleasures Than I Began To Think Of Rhymes And Measures: The Air That Floated By Me Seem'd To Say 'write! Thou Wilt Never Have A Better Day.

But The Rose Leaves Herself Upon The Brier, For Winds To Kiss And Grateful Bees To Feed.

Much Have I Traveled In The Realms Of Gold, And Many Goodly States And Kingdoms Seen.

The Redbreast Whistles From A Garden-croft; And Gathering Swallows Twitter In The Skies.