And Health—to all its happiest charm that lends,—
These and their servants, man’s untiring friends.
A Modest Request.
Wan-visaged thing! thy virgin leaf
To me looks more than deadly pale,
Unknowing what may stain thee yet,—
A poem or a tale.
To a Blank Sheet of Paper.
“It ain’t jest the thing to grease your ex with ile o’ vitrul,” said the Member.—The Poet at the Breakfast-table.
Ye know not,—but the hour is nigh;