There's No Dew Left On The Daisies

From Henceforth Thou Shalt Learn That There Is Love To Long For, Pureness To Desire, A Mount Of Consecration It Were Good To Scale.

When Sparrows Build And The Leaves Break Forth My Old Sorrow Wakes And Cries.

O Woman! Thou Wert Fashioned To Beguile: So Have All Sages Said, All Poets Sung.

Crowds Of Bees Are Giddy With Clover Crowds Of Grasshoppers Skip At Our Feet, Crowds Of Larks At Their Matins Hang Over, Thanking The Lord For A Life So Sweet.

Man Is The Miracle In Nature. God Is The One Miracle To Man.