An Interview by John B. Tabb
I sat with chill December
Beside the evening fire.
"And what do you remember,"
I ventured to inquire,
"Of seasons long forsaken?"
He answered in amaze,
"My age you have mistaken;
I've lived but thirty days."
Ode on Adversity
Ode on Adversity By Mary Darby Robinson WHERE o'er my head, the deaf'ning Tempest blew, And Night's cold lamp cast forth a feeble ray; Where o'er the woodlands, vivid light'nings flew, Cleft the strong oak, and scorch'd the blossom'd spray; At morn's approach, I mark...
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