Wherever They Burn Books They Will Also,

It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

The Beauteous Eyes Of The Spring's Fair Night With Comfort Are Downward Gazing.

Our Sweetest Hopes Rise Blooming. And Then Again Are Gone, They Bloom And Fade Alternate, And So It Goes Rolling On. I Know It, And It Troubles My Life, My Love, My Rest, My Heart Is Wise And Witty, And It Bleeds Within My Breast.

The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Discovered.

High In The Air Rises The Forest Of Oaks, High Over The Oaks Soar The Eagle, High Over The Eagle Sweep The Clouds, High Over The Clouds Gleam The Stars... High Over The Stars Sweep The Angels.