Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter.

A Hope Beyond The Shadow Of A Dream.

If Something Is Not Beautiful, It Is Probably Not True.

X. I Saw Pale Kings And Princes Too, Pale Warriors, Death-pale Were They All; They Cried—“la Belle Dame Sans Merci Hath Thee In Thrall!” Xi. I Saw Their Starved Lips In The Gloam, With Horrid Warning Gaped Wide, And I Awoke And Found Me Here, On The Cold Hill’s Side. Xii. And This Is Why I Sojourn Here, Alone And Palely Loitering, Though The Sedge Is Wither’d From The Lake, And No Birds Sing.

I Love Your Hills And I Love Your Dales, And I Love Your Flocks A-bleating; But Oh, On The Heather To Lie Together, With Both Our Hearts A-beating!