In A Drear-nighted December, Too Happy, Happy

Health Is The Greatest Of Blessings - With Health And Hope We Should Be Content To Live.

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

You Are Always New. The Last Of Your Kisses Was Even The Sweetest; The Last Smile The Brightest; The Last Movement The Gracefullest.

Nor Do We Merely Feel These Essences For One Short Hour No, Even As These Trees That Whisper Round A Temple Become Soon Dear As The Temples Self, So Does The Moon, The Passion Posey, Glories Infinite, Haunt Us Till They Become A Cheering Light Unto Our Souls And Bound To Us So Fast, That Wheather There Be Shine, Or Gloom O'er Cast, They Always Must Be With Us, Or We Die.

Beauty Is Truth, Truth Beauty