Where There Is No Wine There Is

Lady, The Sun's Light To Our Eyes Is Dear, And Fair The Tranquil Reaches Of The Sea, And Flowery Earth In May, And Bounding Waters; And So Right Many Fair Things I Might Praise; Yet Nothing Is So Radiant And So Fair As For Souls Childless, With Desire Sore-smitten, To See The Light Of Babes About The House.

When Good Men Die Their Goodness Does Not Perish.

I Care For Riches, To Make Gifts.

Talk Sense To A Fool And He Calls You Foolish.

But Woe To Him, Who Left To Moan, Reviews The Hours Of Brightness Gone.