If I miscount the hours, blame Love, not me,
Who makes the time when you are near me, seem
Short as the vision of a vanishing dream,
When you are far—long as eternity.

When from your gems of thought I turn
To those pure orbs, your heart to learn,
I scarce know which to prize most high —
The bright i-dea, or the bright dear-eye.

On a young girl showing me a scar on her cheek where a stick of wood struck her.

In its own place 'tis very good
Always to have plenty of wood ;
But, striking fair maid, that is rude,
And puts me in an angry mood.

Jeg er et Hoved uden Krop,
Da mangen en, Gud være lovet!
Fra Fode-Saale indtil Top
Er bare Krop foruden Hoved.

O Einsamkeit! wie trink ich gerne
Aus deiner frischen Waldzisterne!

Beneath Blessington's eyes
The reclaimed Paradise
Should be free as the former from evil;
But if the new Eve
For an Apple should grieve,
What mortal would not play the Devil.

Sam has spirits naught could check,
And to-day, at breakfast, he
Broke his baby sister's neck,
So he shan't have jam for tea!

His over-hot desire itself defeats,
And where mere prudence had attained, he fails
For lack of self-retention; as on ice
A ravening wolf, when his prey swerves, o'ershoots
The mark, and, floundering in his fury, slides
On the smooth floor.

Impart not esoteric truth to fools,
Nor on molasses feed an ass.
Do not sow seed in sandy beds,
Nor waste your oil on cakes of bran.

From your life's blood to coin a trenchant word--
The past, the present and the future's ken
To hold--and weave it to a ringing chord
That sounds within the changing hearts of men.