Peace to these little broken leaves, That strew our common ground; That chase their tails, like silly dogs, As they go round and round. For though in winter boughs are bare, Let us not once forget Their summer glory, when these leaves Caught the great Sun in their strong net; And made him, in the lower air, Tremble - no bigger than a star!

Pleasure's a Moth, that sleeps by day And dances by false glare at night; But Joy's a Butterfly, that loves To spread its wings in Nature's light.

When I had money, money, O! I knew no joy till I went poor; For many a false man as a friend Came knocking all day at my door.

What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.

Teetotallers lack the sympathy and generosity of men that drink.

It was the rainbow gave thee birth, and left thee all her lovely hues.

As long as I love Beauty I am young.