• We — Bee and I — live by the quaffing —

    'Tisn't all Hock — with us —

    Life has its Ale —

    But it's many a lay of the Dim Burgundy —

    We chant — for cheer — when the Wines — fail —


    Do we "get drunk"?

    Ask the jolly Clovers!

    Do we "beat" our "Wife"?

    I — never wed —

    Bee...

  • We'll pass without the parting

    So to spare

    Certificate of Absence —

    Deeming where


    I left Her I could find Her

    If I tried —

    This way, I keep from missing

    Those that died.

  •        "When I and all those that hear me shall have gone to our last home, and

            when the mould may have gathered on our memories, as it will on our

            tombs:" -- Webster's Speech in the Senate, July, 1850.

     

            The mould upon thy memory! -- No,

                Not while one note is rung,
    ...

  • Went up a year this evening!

    I recollect it well!

    Amid no bells nor bravoes

    The bystanders will tell!

    Cheerful — as to the village —

    Tranquil — as to repose —

    Chastened — as to the Chapel

    This humble Tourist rose!

    Did not talk of returning!

    Alluded to no time
    ...

  • Were it but Me that gained the Height —

    Were it but They, that failed!

    How many things the Dying play

    Might they but live, they would!

  • Were it to be the last

    How infinite would be

    What we did not suspect was marked —

    Our final interview.

  • Were natural mortal lady

    Who had so little time

    To pack her trunk and order

    The great exchange of clime —


    How rapid, how momentous —

    What exigencies were —

    But nature will be ready

    And have an hour to spare.


    To make some trifle fairer

    That was too fair...

  • Wert Thou but ill — that I might show thee

    How long a Day I could endure

    Though thine attention stop not on me

    Nor the least signal, Me assure —


    Wert Thou but Stranger in ungracious country —

    And Mine — the Door

    Thou paused at, for a passing bounty —

    No More —


    Accused...

  • What care the Dead, for Chanticleer —

    What care the Dead for Day?

    'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face —

    And Purple Ribaldry — of Morning


    Pour as blank on them

    As on the Tier of Wall

    The Mason builded, yesterday,

    And equally as cool —


    What care the Dead for Summer?...

  • What did They do since I saw Them?

    Were They industrious?

    So many questions to put Them

    Have I the eagerness


    That could I snatch Their Faces

    That could Their lips reply

    Not till the last was answered

    Should They start for the Sky.


    Not if Their Party were waiting,...