PICTURE and book remain,An acre of green grassFor air and exercise,Now strength of body goes;Midnight, an old houseWhere nothing stirs but a mouse.My temptation is quiet.Here at life’s endNeither loose
Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind As man’s ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho!