Ah, words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away.
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.
My fears are agitated to an extreme degree and the dread of death involves me in a stupor of chilling indisposition.
I found the poems in the fields And only wrote them down
If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.
I am gennerally understood tho I do not use that awkward squad of pointings called commas colons semicolons etc.