O Teach Me How I Should Forget

O, Call Back Yesterday, Bid Time Return

Thou Art Thy Mother's Glass, And She In Thee Calls Back The Lovely April Of Her Prime...

Come Give Us A Taste Of Your Quality.

. . . Nothing In His Life Became Him Like The Leaving It; He Died As One That Had Been Studied In His Death To Throw Away The Dearest Thing He Owed, As 'twere A Careless Trifle.

And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.