One is tempted to ask maliciously, “Moulting time?”
Here is another specimen, of which no manuscript copy is in existence, its preservation being due to the loving admiration of Ruth Stickney, who memorized it:
Clouds, ye are beautiful! I love to gaze
Upon your gorgeous hues and varying forms,
When lighted with the sun of noon-day’s blaze,
Or when ye are darkened with the blackest storms.
etc., etc., etc.
Next, consider this rather morbidly religious effusion in blank verse:
I see thee reaching forth thy hand to take
The laurel wreath that Fame has twined and now