Love Can Make Us Fiends As Well

I Go At What I Have To Do As If There Were Nothing Else In The World For Me To Do.

Love Is Sentimental Measles.

Music Has Been Called The Speech Of The Angels; I Will Go Farther And Call It The Speech Of God Himself.

Still The Race Of Hero Spirits Pass The Lamp From Hand To Hand.

Oh! That We Two Were Maying Down The Stream Of The Soft Spring Breeze; Like Children With Violets Playing, In The Shade Of The Whispering Trees.