The World Is Come Upon Me, I

Nothing Is More Wistful Than The Scent Of Lilac, Nor More Robust Than Its Woody Stalk, For We Must Remember That It Is A Tree As Well As A Flower, We Must Try Not To Forget This.

Unpopular, Lonely And Loving, Elinor Need Not Trouble, For If She Were Not So Loving, She Would Not Be So Miserable.

My Muse Sits Forlorn She Wishes She Had Not Been Born She Sits In The Cold No Word She Says Is Ever Told.

My Heart Was Full Of Softening Showers, I Used To Swing Like This For Hours, I Did Not Care For War Or Death, I Was Glad To Draw My Breath.

Oh, No No No, It Was Too Cold Always (still The Dead One Lay Moaning) I Was Much Too Far Out All My Life And Not Waving But Drowning.