This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty; such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.

The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; The leaf is dead, the yearning past away; New leaf, new life--the days of frost are o'er; New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love--free field--we love but while we may.

A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.

Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.

Life is brief but love is LONG .

One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.

Where love could walk with banish'd Hope no more.