So, Blind To Someone I Must Be.

What Lovely Things Thy Hand Hath Made.

A Lost But Happy Dream May Shed Its Light Upon Our Waking Hours, And The Whole Day May Be Infected With The Gloom Of A Dreary Or Sorrowful One; Yet Of Neither May We Be Able To Recover A Trace.

Three Jolly Huntsmen, In Coats Of Red, Rode Their Horses Up To Bed.

Once A Man Strays Out Of The Common Herd, He's More Likely To Meet Wolves In The Thickets Than Angels.

Oh, No Man Knows Through What Wild Centuries Roves Back The Rose.