Hope Dead Lives Nevermore, No, Not In

January Cold And Desolate; February Dripping Wet; March Wind Ranges; April Changes; Birds Sing In Tune To Flowers Of May, And Sunny June Brings Longest Day; In Scorched July The Storm-clouds Fly, Lightning-torn; August Bears Corn, September Fruit; In Rough October Earth Must Disrobe Her; Stars Fall And Shoot In Keen November; And Night Is Long And Cold Is Strong In Bleak December.

The Lilies Say: Behold How We Preach Without Words Of Purity.

Fair As The Moon And Joyful As The Light; Tot Wan With Waiting, Not With Sorrow Dim; Not As She Is, But Was When Hope Shone Bright; Not As She Is, But As She Fills His Dreams.

Remember Me When I Am Gone Away, Gone Far Away Into The Silent Land; When You Can No More Hold Me By The Hand, Nor I Half Turn To Go Yet Turning Stay. Remember Me When No More Day By Day You Tell Me Of Our Future That You Planned: Only Remember Me; You Understand It Will Be Late To Counsel Then Or Pray. Yet If You Should Forget Me For A While And Afterward Remember, Do Not Grieve: For If The Darkness And Corruption Leave A Vestige Of The Thoughts That Once I Had, Better By Far You Should Forget And Smile Than That You Should Remember And Be Sad.

Oh That It Were With Me As With The Flower; Blooming On Its Own Tree For Butterfly And Bee Its Summer Morns: That I Might Bloom Mine Hour A Rose In Spite Of Thorns. Oh That My Work Were Done As Birds' That Soar Rejoicing In The Sun: That When My Time Is Run And Daylight Too, I So Might Rest Once More Cool With Refreshing Dew.