The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.
The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.