Who Sail On Stormy Seas;

Come, Hearken Then, Ere Voice Of Dread, With Bitter Tiding Laden, Shall Summon To Unwelcome Bed A Melancholy Maiden! We Are But Older Children, Dear, Who Fret To Find Our Bedtime Near.

I Can Explain All The Poems That Were Ever Invented - And A Good Many That Haven't Been Invented Just Yet.

Lastly, She Pictured To Herself How This Same Little Sister Of Hers Would, In The After-time, Be Herself A Grown Woman; And How She Would Keep, Through All Her Riper Years, The Simple And Loving Heart Of Her Childhood: And How She Would Gather About Her Other Little Children, And Make Their Eyes Bright And Eager With Many A Strange Tale, Perhaps Even With The Dream Of Wonderland Of Long Ago: And How She Would Feel With All Their Simple Sorrows, And Find A Pleasure In All Their Simple Joys, Remembering Her Own Child-life, And The Happy Summer Days.

I Know Who I Was When I Got Up This Morning, But I Think I Must Have Been Changed Several Times Since Then

I Can't Go Back To Yesterday - Because I Was A Different Person Then.