The leaves are sere,
The woods are drear,
The breeze that erst so merrily did play,
Naught giveth save a melancholy lay;
Yet life's great lessons do not fail
E'en in November's gale.

LEAVE him: he's quiet enough: and what matter
Out of his body or in, you can scatter
The frozen breath of his silenced soul, of his outraged soul to the winds that rave
Quieter now than he used to be, but listening still to the magpie chatter
Over his grave.

Learn, Lads and Lasses, of my Garden,
That Time doth Thorns and Thistles harden,
And that ill Weeds make no good hay;
Why then should any of you say
We will be better, when we're older [?]
I am afraid, you shall be Colder
In Soul, in Spirit, and in Flesh:
Therefore mend, mend! whilst young and fresh.

Last year we parted as the flowers began to bloom.
Now the flowers bloom again, and you still have not returned.
Purple grief, red sorrow — a hundred thousand kinds,
and the spring wind blows each of them into my hands.

Last night thou didst invite me home to eate;
And shew'st me there much Plate, but little meat;
Prithee, when next thou do'st invite, barre State,
And give me meate, or give me else thy Plate.

Last night, as through the crowd on Market Street
A new-made soldier proudly swung along,
Guiding that gray-eyed wonder called his girl,
Whose face turned up to him in silent song:

I marked, above those gay young hearts atune,
The unimportant beauty of the moon.

The land was white,
The seed was black;
It will take a good scholar
To riddle me that.

Lamp by the yellow chrysanthemums,
close onto midnight;
tomorrow morning you set off
to tread the Shinshu clouds.
Our one pot of wine gone,
but stay a little longer —
in this sickness near to death,
must I say goodbye to you?

The sun on Ivera
No longer shines brightly;
The voice of her music
No longer is sprightly;
No more to her maidens
The light dance is dear,
Since the death of our darling
O'Sullivan Bear.

Lady farewell whome I in silence serve
Woulde god thou knewest the depth of my desire
Then mought I wish though nought I can deserve
Some dropps of grace to slake my scalding fire
But sith to live alone I have decreede
Ile spare to speake, that I may spare to speede