't Is Sweeter For Thee Despairing Than

When Chill November's Surly Blast Made Fields And Forests Bare.

Yon Rosebuds In The Morning-dew, How Pure Amang The Leaves Sae Green!

Their Sighing, Canting, Grace-proud Faces, Their Three-mile Prayers, And Half-mile Graces.

Some Rhyme A Neebor's Name To Lash; Some Rhyme (vain Thought!) For Needfu' Cash; Some Rhyme To Court The Countra Clash, An' Raise A Din; For Me, An Aim I Never Fash; I Rhyme For Fun.

Chords That Vibrate Sweetest Pleasure Thrill The Deepest Notes Of Woe.