The Sea Hath Its Pearls

Whoever Benefits His Enemy With Straightforward Intention That Man's Enemies Will Soon Fold Their Hands In Devotion.

Winter Giveth The Fields, And The Trees So Old, Their Beards Of Icicles And Snow.

Is This Is A Dream? O, If It Be A Dream, Let Me Sleep On, And Do Not Wake Me Yet!

It Is Autumn; Not Without But Within Me Is The Cold. Youth And Spring Are All About; It Is I That Have Grown Old.

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