For You And I Are Past Our

Who Are The Violets Now That Strew The Lap Of The New-come Spring?

Dream In Light Years, Challenge Miles, Walk Step By Step

Wine Loved I Deeply, Dice Dearly.

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy.

Four Days Will Quickly Steep Themselves In Nights; Four Nights Will Quickly Dream Away The Time; And Then The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven, Shall Behold The Night Of Our Solemnities.