Of All The Paths [that]

Oh, Love Will Make A Dog Howl In Rhyme.

You Are No Better Than You Should Be.

Let No Man Fear To Die, We Love To Sleep All, And Death Is But The Sounder Sleep.

Those Have Most Power To Hurt Us, That We Love.

Daisies Smell-less, Yet Most Quaint, And Sweet Thyme True, Primrose, First Born Child Of Ver, Merry Spring-time's Harbinger.