And At My Silent Window-sill The Jessamine

Music Is Not Merely A Study, It Is An Entertainment; Wherever There Is Music There Is A Throng Of Listeners.

A Stable, Changeless State, 'twere Cause Indeed To Weep.

Thine Eyes Are Springs In Whose Serene And Silent Waters Heaven Is Seen. Their Lashes Are The Herbs That Look On Their Young Figures In The Brook.

The Melancholy Days Are Come, The Saddest Of The Year, Of Wailing Winds, And Naked Woods And Meadows Brown And Sear.

Or, Bide Thou Where The Poppy Blows With Windflowers Fail And Fair.