How Sweet I Roamed From Field To

Lo! Now The Direful Monster, Whose Skin Clings To His Strong Bones, Strides O'er The Groaning Rocks: He Withers All In Silence, And His Hand Unclothes The Earth, And Freezes Up Frail Life.

The Little Ones Leaped, And Shouted, And Laugh'd And All The Hills Echoed

When Nations Grow Old The Arts Grow Cold And Commerce Settles On Every Tree

Why A Tender Curb Upon The Youthful Burning Boy? Why A Little Curtain Of Flesh On The Bed Of Our Desire?

Everything Is Beautiful In Its Own Way. Exuberance Is Beauty.