I-i Am Going To Be A Storm-a

Stay Awhile! 'tis Sweet,. . . The Rare Occasion, When Our Hearts Can Speak Our Selves Unseen, Unseeing!

And If Kisses In These Words Could Travel Too, Madam, You'd Read This Letter With Your Lips.

Where Lurk Sweet Echoes Of The Dear Homevoices, Each Note Of Which Calls Like A Little Sister, Those Airs Slow, Slow Ascending, As The Smokewreaths Rise From The Hearthstones Of Our Native Hamlets Cyrano Act 5.

Proclaim Your Pride And Bitterness Loudly To The World, But To Me Speak Softly, And Tell Me Simply That She Doesn't Love You.

My Soul, Be Satisfied With Flowers, With Fruit, With Weeds Even; But Gather Them In The One Garden You May Call Your Own.