Severn - I - Lift Me Up

Neither Poetry, Nor Ambition, Nor Love Have Any Alertness Of Countenance As They Pass By Me.

I Shall Soon Be Laid In The Quiet Grave - Thank God For The Quiet Grave

Life Is But A Day; A Fragile Dewdrop On Its Perilous Way From A Tree's Summit.

'tis The Witching Hour Of Night, Orbed Is The Moon And Bright. And The Stars They Glisten, Glisten, Seeming With Bright Eyes To Listen- For What Listen They?

The Poetry Of Earth Is Never Dead When All The Birds Are Faint With The Hot Sun, And Hide I Cooling Trees, A Voice Will Run From Hedge To Hedge About The New-mown Mead.