text:  It is hard enough to part with all the fiery spirits the glowing imaginations the elasticity of mind and body which we lose as age creeps on; but if with the bright summer weather and cloudless skies of youth to which we are content to bid farewell we must lose too the "sunshine of the breast"--the "bloom of heart"--then well might the poet count him happy who died in early spring--who knew nothing of life but its fair promises and passed away in happy scepticism of the winter which was to come