These Flowers Are Like The Pleasures Of

Oft Have I Heard That Grief Softens The Mind And Makes It Fearful And Degenerate.

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.

The Plants Look Up To Heaven, From Whence They Have Their Nourishment.

This Fell Sergeant, Death, Is Strict In His Arrest.