Bread, Milk And Butter Are Of Venerable

Beauty Too Often Sacrifices To Fashion.

Tears Hinder Sorrow From Becoming Despair.

Sympathizing And Selfish People Are Alike, Both Given To Tears.

Mirth Itself Is Too Often But Melancholy In Disguise.

The Golden Line Is Drawn Between Winter And Summer. Behind All Is Blackness And Darkness And Dissolution. Before Is Hope, And Soft Airs, And The Flowers, And The Sweet Season Of Hay; And People Will Cross The Fields, Reading Or Walking With One Another; And Instead Of The Rain That Soaks Death Into The Heart Of Green Things, Will Be The Rain Which They Drink With Delight; And There Will Be Sleep On The Grass At Midday, And Early Rising In The Morning, And Long Moonlight Evenings.