Comfort and indolence are cronies.
Bells are musics laughter.
A moment's thinking is an hour in words.
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.
We watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.