The Lily Is All In White, Like

No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Birds - November!

I Remember, I Remember, The House Where I Was Born, The Little Window Where The Sun Came Peeping In At Morn.

Well For The Drones Of The Social Hive That There Are Bees Of An Industrious Turn, Willing, For An Infinitesimal Share Of The Honey, To Undertake The Labor Of Its Fabrication.

How Bless'd The Heart That Has A Friend. A Sympathizing Ear To Lend.

There Is Not A String Attuned To Mirth But Has Its Chord Of Melancholy.