Do Diddle Di Do, Poor Jim Jay

When I Lie Where Shades Of Darkness Shall No More Assail Mine Eyes.

A Face Peered. All The Grey Night In Chaos Of Vacancy Shone; Nought But Vast Sorrow Was There The Sweet Cheat Gone.

For Beauty With Sorrow Is A Burden Hard To Be Borne: The Evening Light On The Foam, And The Swans, There; That Music, Remote, Forlorn.

Without Imagination Of The One Kind Or Of The Other, Mortal Existence Is Indeed A Dreary And Prosaic Business... Illumined By The Imagination, Our Life, Whatever Its Defeats - Is A Never-ending Unforeseen Strangeness And Adventure And Mystery.

As Soon As They're Out Of Your Sight, You Are Out Of Their Mind.