Where did you get your eyes so blue? Out of the skies as I came through.

Where did you come from baby dear? Out of the everywhere into the here.

Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husks.

Alas! how easily things go wrong! A sigh too deep or a kiss too long, And then comes a mist and a weeping rain, And life is never the same again.

The charming landscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woo…

And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds, His belly close to ground. I see the blade, Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade

Maud Muller, on a summer's day, Raked the meadows sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health.