Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line.

He that would eat of love must eat it where it hangs.

I would blossom if I were a rose.

If I love you Wednesday, What is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - so much is true.

Night falls fast. Today is in the past. Blown from the dark hill hither to my door Three flakes, then four Arrive, then many more.

Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.

Cut if you will with sleep's dull knife, the years from off your life, my friend! the years that death takes off my life, he'll take from off the other end!