No Man's Pie Is Freed From His

Oh Why Rebuke You Him That Loves You So? / Lay Breath So Bitter On Your Bitter Foe.

But Shall We Wear These Glories For A Day? Or Shall They Last, And We Rejoice In Them?

The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven.

Life Is As Tedious As Twice-told Tale, Vexing The Dull Ear Of A Drowsy Man.

I Love A Ballad In Print O' Life, For Then We Are Sure They Are True.