Hope Is Like A Hairball Trembling From

Oh That It Were With Me As With The Flower; Blooming On Its Own Tree For Butterfly And Bee Its Summer Morns: That I Might Bloom Mine Hour A Rose In Spite Of Thorns. Oh That My Work Were Done As Birds' That Soar Rejoicing In The Sun: That When My Time Is Run And Daylight Too, I So Might Rest Once More Cool With Refreshing Dew.

Spring Is When Life's Alive In Everything.

She Gave Up Beauty In Her Tender Youth, Gave All Her Hope And Joy And Pleasant Ways; She Covered Up Her Eyes Lest They Should Gaze On Vanity, And Chose The Bitter Truth.

My Heart Is Like A Singing Bird Whose Nest Is In A Water'd Shoot; My Heart Is Like An Apple-tree Whose Boughs Are Bent With Thick-set Fruit; My Heart Is Like A Rainbow Shell That Paddles In A Halcyon Sea; My Heart Is Gladder Than All These, Because My Love Is Come To Me. Raise Me A Daïs Of Silk And Down; Hang It With Vair And Purple Dyes; Carve It In Doves And Pomegranates, And Peacocks With A Hundred Eyes; Work It In Gold And Silver Grapes, In Leaves And Silver Fleurs-de-lys; Because The Birthday Of My Life Is Come, My Love Is Come To Me.

For There Is No Friend Like A Sister In Calm Or Stormy Weather; To Cheer One On The Tedious Way, To Fetch One If One Goes Astray, To Lift One If One Totters Down, To Strengthen Whilst One Stands.