Some Dreams We Have Are Nothing Else

A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring , :;:; Must Be A Spoon.

When He Is Forsaken, Withered And Shaken, What Can An Old Man Do But Die?

We Watch'd Her Breathing Through The Night, Her Breathing Soft And Low, As In Her Breast The Wave Of Life Kept Heaving To And Fro.

Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume: There's Crimson Buds, And White And Blue, The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turned To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers.

Lives Of Great Men Oft Remind Us As We O'er Their Pages Turn, That We Too May Leave Behind Us - Letters That We Ought To Burn.