It is the month of June, The month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes, And pleasant scents the noses.

For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, And makes his pulses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice And the light of a pleasant eye.

Let us weep in our darkness, but weep not for him! Not for him who, departing, leaves millions in tears! Not for him who has died full of honor and years! Not …

At present there is no distinction among the upper ten thousand of the city.

And when his hours are numbered, and the world Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art To mimic in slow structur…

Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.

Sweet April-time - O cruel April-time! Year after year returning, with a brow Of promise, and red lips with longing paled, And backward-hidden hands that clutc…