Come Live In My Heart, And Pay

The Neck On Which Diamonds Might Have Worthily Sparkled, Will Look Less Tempting When The Biting Winter Has Hung Icicles There For Gems.

Circumstances Are The Rulers Of The Weak; They Are But The Instruments Of The Wise.

A Baby Was Sleeping, Its Mother Was Weeping.

To Return After Long Years Of Painful Absence To Some Place Which Has Been The Scene Of Our Former Joys, And Whence The Force Of Circumstance, And Not Choice, Has Driven Us, Is Oppressive To The Heart.

Where's The Snow That Fell The Year That's Fled--where's The Snow?