My Life Is Like A Faded Leaf,

Where Are The Songs I Used To Know, Where Are The Notes I Used To Sing? I Have Forgotten Everything I Used To Know So Long Ago. ("the Key-note")

We Must Not Look At Goblin Men, We Must Not Buy Their Fruits: Who Knows Upon What Soil They Fed Their Hungry Thirsty Roots?

Can Anything Be Sadder Than Work Left Unfinished? Yes, Work Never Begun.

Gone Were But The Winter, Come Were But The Spring, I Would Go To A Covert Where The Birds Sing; Where In The Whitethorn Singeth A Thrush, And A Robin Sings In The Holly-bush. Full Of Fresh Scents Are The Budding Boughs Arching High Over A Cool Green House: Full Of Sweet Scents, And Whispering Air Which Sayeth Softly: We Spread No Snare; Here Dwell In Safety, Here Dwell Alone, With A Clear Stream And A Mossy Stone. Here The Sun Shineth Most Shadily; Here Is Heard An Echo Of The Far Sea, Though Far Off It Be.

There Is No Time Like Spring When Life's Alive In Everything, Before New Nestlings Sing, Before Cleft Swallows Speed Their Journey Back Along The Trackless Track.