Stand still, true poet that you are! I know you; let me try and draw you. Some night you'll fail us: when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star!

I have lived, And seen God's hand thro a life time, And all was for the best.

Oh, to be in England now that April's there.

This could but have happened once,- And we missed it, lost it forever.

Truth is truth howe'er it strike.

Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

When a man's busy, why leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy.