Truth Can Never Be Told

He Who Pretends To Be Either Painter Or Engraver Without Being A Master Of Drawing Is An Imposter.

The Little Ones Leaped, And Shouted, And Laugh'd And All The Hills Echoed

O Autumn, Laden With Fruit, And Stained With The Blood Of The Grape, Pass Not, But Sit Beneath My Shady Roof; There Thou May'st Rest, And Tune Thy Jolly Voice To My Fresh Pipe; And All The Daughters Of The Year Shall Dance! Sing Now The Lusty Song Of Fruit And Flowers.

When The Voices Of Children Are Heard On The Greenand Laughing Is Heard On The Hill,my Heart Is At Rest Within My Breastand Everything Else Is Still.

Forgive What You Do Not Approve & Love Me For This Energetic Exertion Of My Talent