He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, read more

He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some.

Messenger of sympathy and love,
Servant of parted friends,
Consoler of the lonely,
Bond read more

Messenger of sympathy and love,
Servant of parted friends,
Consoler of the lonely,
Bond of the scattered family,
Enlarger of the common life.

An exquisite invention this,
Worthy of Love's most honeyed kiss,--
This art of writing billet-doux--
read more

An exquisite invention this,
Worthy of Love's most honeyed kiss,--
This art of writing billet-doux--
In buds, and odors, and bright hues!
In saying all one feels and thinks
In clever daffodils and pinks;
In puns of tulips; and in phrases,
Charming for their truth, of daisies.

Ev'n so, with all submission, I
. . . .
Send you each year a homely letter,
read more

Ev'n so, with all submission, I
. . . .
Send you each year a homely letter,
Who may return me much a better.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.

Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid.

Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid.

I have only made this letter rather long because I have not had
time to make it shorter.
read more

I have only made this letter rather long because I have not had
time to make it shorter.
[Fr., Je n'ai fait celle-ci plus longue que parceque je n'ai pas
eu le loisir de la faire plus courte.]

Now my days are swifter than a post: they flee away, they see no
good.

Now my days are swifter than a post: they flee away, they see no
good.

Belshazzar had a letter,--
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondence
Concluded and begun
read more

Belshazzar had a letter,--
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondence
Concluded and begun
In that immortal copy
The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall.