But What Is Past My Help Is

There's Nothing That Allays An Angry Mind So Soon As A Sweet Beauty.

Bad's The Best Of Us.

Grace Comes Often Clad In The Dusky Robe Of Desolation.

Daisies Smell-less, Yet Most Quaint, And Sweet Thyme True, Primrose, First Born Child Of Ver, Merry Spring-time's Harbinger.

Our Lives Are But Our Marches To The Grave.