I Would Sooner Fail Than Not Be

I Always Made An Awkward Bow.

O Latest Born And Loveliest Vision Far Of All Olympus' Faded Hierarchy.

... The Open Sky Sits Upon Our Senses Like A Sapphire Crown - The Air Is Our Robe Of State - The Earth Is Our Throne, And The Sea A Mighty Minstrel Playing Before It.

In A Drear-nighted December, Too Happy, Happy Tree, Thy Branches Ne'er Remember Their Green Felicity.

There Is Nothing Stable In The World; Uproar's Your Only Music.