There Is One Art Of Which People

A Grief Without A Pang, Void, Dark And Drear, A Drowsy, Stifled, Unimpassioned Grief, Which Finds No Natural Outlet Or Relief, In Word, Or Sigh, Or Tear.

Thou Rising Sun! Thou Blue Rejoicing Sky! Yea! Every Thing That Is And Will Be Free! Bear Witness For Me, Whereso'er Ye Be, With What Deep Worship I Have Still Adored The Spirit Of Divinest Liberty.

'tis A Month Before The Month Of May, And The Spring Comes Slowly Up This Way.

You Do Not Believe, You Only Believe That You Believe.

In Many Ways Doth The Full Heart Reveal The Presence Of The Love It Would Conceal.