Bring a candle, for the room
Is dark and cold,
Antechamber of the tomb--
O grief untold!

Like a snowdrift is her bed,
Dinted the snow,
Faint frozen lines from foot to head,--
She lies below.

Turn from off her shrouded face
The frigid sheet....
Death hath doubled all her grace--
O Jenny, sweet!




MY BOOKS

What are my books?--My friends, my loves,
My church, my tavern, and my only wealth;
My garden: yea, my flowers, my bees, my doves;
My only doctors--and my only health.




MAMMON