Alas! When Passion Is Both Meek And

Open Afresh Your Rounds Of Starry Folds, Ye Ardent Marigolds.

O For A Life Of Sensations Rather Than Of Thoughts!

Pensive They Sit, And Roll Their Languid Eyes.

I Love Your Hills And I Love Your Dales, And I Love Your Flocks A-bleating; But Oh, On The Heather To Lie Together, With Both Our Hearts A-beating!

I Shall Soon Be Laid In The Quiet Grave - Thank God For The Quiet Grave