I Am Sailing With Thee Through The

Season Of Mists And Mellow Fruitfulness, Close Bosom-friend Of The Maturing Sun.

Call The World If You Please "the Vale Of Soul-making." Then You Will Find Out The Use Of The World.

Pleasure Is Oft A Visitant; But Pain Clings Cruelly To Us.

Severn - I - Lift Me Up - I Am Dying - I Shall Die Easy; Don't Be Frightened - Be Firm, And Thank God It Has Come.

But The Rose Leaves Herself Upon The Brier, For Winds To Kiss And Grateful Bees To Feed.