Autumn grows old: he, like some simple one, In Summer's castaway is strangely clad

The collier's wife had four tall sons Brought from the pit's mouth dead, And crushed from foot to head

From my own kind I only learn How foolish comfort is

Thou shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp, Let's grimly kiss with bated breath; As quietly and solemnly As Life when it is kissing Death.