Listen My Children And You

There Is No Grief Like The Grief That Does Not Speak.

O Lovely Eyes Of Azure, Clear As The Waters Of A Brook That Run Limpid And Laughing In The Summer Sun!

The Market-place, The Eager Love Of Gain, Whose Aim Is Vanity, And Whose End Is Pain!

The Helicon Of Too Many Poets Is Not A Hill Crowned With Sunshine And Visited By The Muses And The Graces, But An Old, Mouldering House, Full Of Gloom And Haunted By Ghosts.

The Rapture Of Pursuing Is The Prize The Vanquished Gain.