Hope Dead Lives Nevermore, No, Not In

The Violets Whisper From The Shade Which Their Own Leaves Have Made: Men Scent Our Fragrance On The Air, Yet Take No Heed Of Humble Lessons We Would Read.

I Might Show Facts As Plain As Day: But, Since Your Eyes Are Blind, You'd Say, 'where? What?' And Turn Away.

I Have No Wit, No Words, No Tears; My Heart Within Me Like A Stone Is Numb'd Too Much For Hopes Or Fears; Look Right, Look Left, I Dwell Alone; I Lift Mine Eyes, But Dimm'd With Grief No Everlasting Hills I See; My Life Is In The Falling Leaf: O Jesus, Quicken Me.

And All Winds Go Sighing For Sweet Things Dying.

The Bourne Underneath The Growing Grass, Underneath The Living Flowers, Deeper Than The Sound Of Showers: There We Shall Not Count The Hours By The Shadows As They Pass. Youth And Health Will Be But Vain, Beauty Reckoned Of No Worth: There A Very Little Girth Can Hold Round What Once The Earth Seemed Too Narrow To Contain.