Through Woods And Mountain Passes The Winds,

If We Could Read The Secret History Of Our Enemies We Should Find In Each Man's Life Sorrow And Suffering Enough To Disarm All Hostility.

Time, Like A Preacher In The Days Of The Puritans, Turned The Hour-glass On His High Pulpit, The Church Belfry.

Art Is Long, And Time Is Fleeting.

The Story, From Beginning To End, I Found Again In A Heart Of A Friend.

Maiden, That Read'st This Simple Rhyme, Enjoy Thy Youth, It Will Not Stay; Enjoy The Fragrance Of Thy Prime, For Oh, It Is Not Always May!