No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!

Extremes meet', as the whiting said with its tail in its mouth.

My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.

I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything.

Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.

And there is even a happiness That makes the heart afraid.

Comfort and indolence are cronies.