What Exile From Himself Can

Oh Who Can Tell, Save He Whose Heart Hath Tried.

A Thirst For Gold, The Beggar's Vice, Which Can But Overwhelm The Meanest Hearts.

So We'll Go No More A-roving So Late Into The Night, Though The Heart Still Be As Loving, And The Moon Still Be As Bright. For The Sword Outwears Its Sheath, And The Soul Outwears The Breast, And The Heart Must Pause To Breathe, And Love Itself Have Rest. Though The Night Was Made For Loving, And The Day Returns Too Soon, Yet We'll Go No More A-roving By The Light Of The Moon.

Such Partings Break The Heart They Fondly Hope To Heal.

Always Laugh When You Can; It Is Cheap Medicine. Merriment Is A Philosophy Not Well Understood. It Is The Sunny Side Of Existence.