Hi!

There is wind where the rose was, Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o'er the steep Grey skies where the lark was. Nought warm where your hand was

Thistle and darnell and dock grew there, And a bush, in the corner, of may, On the orchard wall I used to sprawl In the blazing heat of the day; Half asleep and half awake,

Sitting under the mistletoe(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low, All the sleepy dancers gone, Just one candle burning on,

The last of last words spoken is, Good-bye -The last dismantled flower in the weed-grown hedge, The last thin rumour of a feeble bell far ringing, The last blind rat to spurn the mildewed rye.

As I mused by the hearthside, Puss said to me;" there burns the fire , man, and here sit we.

Tom told his dog called Tim to beg, And up at once he sat, His two clear amber eyes fixed fast, His haunches on his mat.

When I lie where shades of darkness Shall no more assail mine eyes, Nor the rain make lamentation When the wind sighs; How will fare the world whose wonder Was the very proof of me? Memory fades, must the remembered Perishing be?

It's a very odd thing -  As odd can be -That whatever Miss T eats  Turns into Miss T.; Porridge and apples,  Mince, muffins and mutton, Jam, junket, jumbles -  Not a rap, not a It matters; the moment  They're out of her plate