Gather The Flowers, But Spare The Buds.

How Could Such Sweet And Wholesome Hours Be Reckoned, But In Herbs And Flowers?

Music, The Mosaic Of The Air.

And All The Way, To Guide Their Chime, With Falling Oars They Kept Their Time.

And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts Of Vast Eternity.

The Grave's A Fine And Private Place, But None, I Think, Do There Embrace.