Many A Time I Have Been Half

In A Drear-nighted December, Too Happy, Happy Brook, Thy Bubblings Ne'er Remember Apollo's Summer Look; But With A Sweet Forgetting, They Stay Their Crystal Fretting, Never, Never Petting About The Frozen Time.

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

In A Drear-nighted December, Too Happy, Happy Tree, Thy Branches Ne'er Remember Their Green Felicity.

He Ne'er Is Crowned With Immortality Who Fears To Follow Where Airy Voices Lead.

A Man Should Have The Fine Point Of His Soul Taken Off To Become Fit For This World.