Solitude Is Very Sad, Too Much Company

O Spirit Of The Summertime! Bring Back The Roses To The Dells; The Swallow From Her Distant Clime, The Honey-bee From Drowsy Cells. Bring Back The Friendship Of The Sun; The Gilded Evenings, Calm And Late, When Merry Children Homeward Run, And Peeping Stars Bid Lovers Wait. Bring Back The Singing; And The Scent Of Meadowlands At Dewy Prime;- Oh, Bring Again My Heart's Content, Thou Spirit Of The Summertime!

Winds And Waters Keepa Hush More Dead Than Any Sleep.

Now Autumn's Fire Burns Slowly Along The Woods And Day By Day The Dead Leaves Fall And Melt.

Yet Dearer Still That Irish Hill Than All The World Beside; It's Home, Sweet Home, Where'er I Roam, Through Lands And Waterswide.

Not Like Homer Would I Write, Not Like Dante If I Might, Not Like Shakespeare At His Best, Not Like Goethe Or The Rest, Like Myself, However Small, Like Myself, Or Not At All.