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.

No matter where the body is, the mind is free to go elsewhere.

But cats to me are strange, so strange I cannot sleep if one is near.

As long as I love Beauty I am young.

I turned my head and saw the wind, Not far from where I stood, Dragging the corn by her golden hair, Into a dark and lonely wood.

And hear the pleasant cockoo, loud and long - The simple bird that thinks two notes a song.

Yes, I will spend the livelong day With Nature in this month of May And sit beneath the trees, and share My bread with birds whose homes are there While cows lie down to eat, and sheep Stand to their necks in grass so deep While birds do sing with all their might, As though they felt the earth in flight.

I love thee for a heart that’s kind--not for the knowledge in thy mind.

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

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.

Teetotallers lack the sympathy and generosity of men that drink.

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!

Now shall I walk or shall I ride? 'Ride,' Pleasure said 'Walk,' Joy replied.

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

What sweet, what happy days had I,When dreams made Time Eternity!

I cannot see the short, white curls Upon the forehead of an Ox, But what I see them dripping with That poor thing's blood, and hear the ax When I see calves and lambs, I see Them led to death I see no bird Or rabbit cross the open field But what a sudden shot is heard A shout that tells me men aim true, For death or wound, doth chill me through.