" Alas, dear friend, that, all my days, 



Has poured from that syringa thicket 

 The quaintly discontinuous lays 

 To which I hold a season-ticket, 



" A season-ticket cheaply bought 



With a dessert of pilfered berries, 

 And who so oft my soul has caught 

 With morn and evening voluntaries." 



LOWELL. 



