And Hold Up To The Sun My

A Pretty Woman Is A Welcome Guest.

Sleep Hath Its Own World, And The Wide Realm Of Wild Reality.

As Winds Come Whispering Lightly From The West, Kissing, Not Ruffling, The Blue Deep's Serene.

A Thousand Years May Scare Form A State. An Hour May Lay It In Ruins.

Know Ye Not Who Would Be Free Themselves Must Strike The Blow? By Their Right Arms The Conquest Must Be Wrought?