As A Tree My Sin Stands To

Who Has Seen The Wind? Neither You Nor I But When The Trees Bow Down Their Heads, The Wind Is Passing By.

For There Is No Friend Like A Sister In Calm Or Stormy Weather.

A Man Is Ever Apt To Contemplate Himself Out Of All Proportion To His Surroundings.

Oh Roses For The Flush Of Youth, And Laurel For The Perfect Prime; But Pluck An Ivy Branch For Me Grown Old Before My Time.

The Bourne Underneath The Growing Grass, Underneath The Living Flowers, Deeper Than The Sound Of Showers: There We Shall Not Count The Hours By The Shadows As They Pass. Youth And Health Will Be But Vain, Beauty Reckoned Of No Worth: There A Very Little Girth Can Hold Round What Once The Earth Seemed Too Narrow To Contain.