On His Seventy-fifth Birthday by Walter Savage Landor

"Now thou art gone, tho' not gone far,     It seems that there are worlds between us;     Shine here again, thou wandering star!     Earth's pla"

"In his own image the Creator made, His own pure sunbeam quickend thee, O man! Thou breathing dial! since thy day began The present hour was ever m"

"There falls with every wedding chime A feather from the wing of Time. You pick it up, and say How fair To look upon its colors are! Another drop"

"No, my own love of other years! No, it must never be. Much rests with you that yet endears, Alas! but what with me? Could those bright years oer"

"‘WHERE shall we go for our garlands glad At the falling of the year, When the burnt-up banks are yellow and sad, When the boughs are yellow and sere?"

"I Ay, it is fitting on this holiday, Commemorative of our soldier dead, When -- with sweet flowers of our New England May Hiding the lichened stones"