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.

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms, But a cannon-ball took off his legs, so he laid down his arms.

Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.

No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon, No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day, . . . . . . No road, no street, no t' other side the way, . . . . . . No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no buds.

It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm further off from heaven Than when I was a boy.

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

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.