I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;- Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

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

How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.

Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!

Lives of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn.

There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.

But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!