Ben Battle Was A Soldier

Comfort And Indolence Are Cronies.

The Lily Is All In White, Like A Saint, And So Is No Mate For Me.

A Moment's Thinking Is An Hour In Words.

What Joy Have I In June's Return? My Feet Are Parched-my Eyeballs Burn, I Scent No Flowery Gust; But Faint The Flagging Zephyr Springs, With Dry Macadam On Its Wings, And Turns Me 'dust To Dust.'

I Love Thee - I Love Thee, 'tis All That I Can Say, It Is My Vision In The Night, My Dreaming In The Day.