The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.

The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.

That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.

The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.

Let Nature be your teacher

The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.