A Certain Portion Of The Human Race

The Cowslip Is A Country Wench.

And Ye, Who Have Met With Adversity's Blast, And Been Bow'd To The Earth By Its Fury; To Whom The Twelve Months, That Have Recently Pass'd Were As Harsh As A Prejudiced Jury - Still, Fill To The Future! And Join In Our Chime, The Regrets Of Remembrance To Cozen, And Having Obtained A New Trial Of Time, Shout In Hopes Of A Kindlier Dozen.

Frost Is The Greatest Artist In Our Clime - He Paints In Nature And Describes In Rime.

The Best Of Friends Fall Out, And So His Teeth Had Done Some Years Ago.

It Was A Childish Ignorance, But Now 'tis Little Joy To Know I'm Further Off From Heaven Than When I Was A Boy.