Heiresses Are Never Jilted.

We Are Betrayed By What Is False Within

Woman's Reason Is In The Milk Of Her Breasts.

The Sun Is Coming Down To Earth, And The Fields And The Waters Shout To Him Golden Shouts.

For Singing Till His Heaven Fills, 'tis Love Of Earth That He Instills, And Ever Winging Up And Up, Our Valley Is His Golden Cup, And He The Wine Which Over Flows To Lift Us With Him As He Goes.

And If I Drink Oblivion Of A Day, / So Shorten I The Stature Of My Soul.