Poetry Is The Eloquence Of Verse.

Music Is Not Merely A Study, It Is An Entertainment; Wherever There Is Music There Is A Throng Of Listeners.

Where Are The Flowers, The Fair Young Flowers, That Lately Sprang And Stood In Brighter Light And Softer Airs, A Beauteous Sisterhood?

Maidens Hearts Are Always Soft: Would That Men's Were Truer!

Flowers Spring Up Unsown And Die Ungathered.

The Summer Morn Is Bright And Fresh, The Birds Are Darting By. As If They Loved To Breast The Breeze That Sweeps The Cool Clear Sky.