Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been

We Have Some Salt Of Our Youth In Us.

For Now I Stand As One Upon A Rock Environed With A Wilderness Of Sea, Who Marks The Waxing Tide Grow Wave By Wave, Expecting Ever When Some Envious Surge Will In His Brinish Bowels Swallow Him.

You'd Be So Lean, That Blast Of January Would Blow You Through And Through. Now, My Fair'st Friend, I Would I Had Some Flowers O' The Spring That Might Become Your Time Of Day.

Set Your Heart At Rest. The Fairyland Buys Not The Child Of Me.

If Your Mind Dislike Anything Obey It