THE Sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon’s transparent light:
The breath of the moist air is light
Around its unexpanded buds;
Like many a voice of one delight,—
The winds’, the birds’, the ocean-floods’,—
The City’s voice itself...
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[A farmer’s daughter, during the rage for albums, handed to the author an old account-book ruled for pounds, shillings, and pence, and requested a contribution.]
THIS WORLD ’s a scene as dark as Styx, £ s. d.
Where hope is scarce worth 2 6
Our joys are borne so fleeting hence
That they are dear at 18
And yet to stay here most are...