I bear a little more than I can bear.

I bear a little more than I can bear.

In masks outrageous and austere The years go by in single file; But none has merited my fear, And none has quite escaped my smile.

An old earthen pipe like myself is dry and thirsty and so a most voracious drinker of life at its source; I'm no more to be split by the vital stream than if I were stone or steel.

If any have a stone to throw It is not I, ever or now.

The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.

I am better able to imagine hell than heaven; it is my inheritance, I suppose.