Even Bees, The Little Almsmen

The Thought, The Deadly Thought Of Solitude.

Four Seasons Fill The Measure Of The Year; There Are Four Seasons In The Minds Of Men.

You Cannot Conceive How I Ache To Be With You: How I Would Die For One Hour.

Should Disappointment, Parent Of Despair, Strive For Her Son To Seize My Careless Heart; When, Like A Cloud, He Sits Upon The Air, Preparing On His Spell-bound Prey To Dart: Chase Him Away, Sweet Hope, With Visage Bright, And Fright Him As The Morning Frightens Night!

To Silence Gossip, Don't Repeat It.