Hear The Meaning Within The Word.

I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know Not--lost All My Mirth, Forgone All Custom Of Exercise.

Fools Are Not Mad Folks.

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

And She's Fair I Love.

Therefore I Tell My Sorrows To The Stones; Who, Though They Cannot Answer My Distress, Yet In Some Sort They Are Better Than The Tribunes, For That They Will Not Intercept My Tale: When I Do Weep, They Humbly At My Feet Receive My Tears And Seem To Weep With Me; And, Were They But Attired In Grave Weeds, Rome Could Afford No Tribune Like To These.