The Scariest Monsters Are The Ones That

Come Little Children I'll Take Thee Away, Into A Land Of Enchantment Come Little Children The Time's Come To Play Here In My Garden Of Shadows Follow Sweet Children I'll Show Thee The Way Through All The Pain And The Sorrows Weep Not Poor Childlen For Life Is This Way Murdering Beauty And Passions Hush Now Dear Children It Must Be This Way To Weary Of Life And Deceptions Rest Now My Children For Soon We'll Away Into The Calm And The Quiet Come Little Children I'll Take Thee Away, Into A Land Of Enchantment Come Little Children The Time's Come To Play Here In My Garden Of Shadows

To Elevate The Soul, Poetry Is Necessary.

The Nose Of A Mob Is Its Imagination. By This, At Any Time, It Can Be Quietly Led.

The Rudiment Of Verse May, Possibly, Be Found In The Spondee.

The Eye, Like A Shattered Mirror, Multiplies The Images Of Sorrow