I Am Certain Of Nothing But The

You Cannot Conceive How I Ache To Be With You: How I Would Die For One Hour.

Give Me Books, French Wine, Fruit, Fine Weather And A Little Music Played Out Of Doors By Somebody I Do Not Know.

They Swayed About Upon A Rocking Horse, And Thought It Pegasus.

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter: Therefore, Ye Soft Pipes, Play On; Not To The Sensual Ear, But, More Endear'd, Pipe To The Spirit Ditties Of No Tone. Fair Youth, Beneath The Trees, Thou Canst Not Leave Thy Song, Nor Ever Can Those Trees Be Bare; Bold Lover, Never, Never Canst Thou Kiss, Though Winning Near The Goal Yet, Do Not Grieve; She Cannot Fade, Though Thou Hast Not Thy Bliss, For Ever Wilt Thou Love, And She Be Fair!

I Wish You Could Invent Some Means To Make Me At All Happy Without You. Every Hour I Am More And More Concentrated In You; Everything Else Tastes Like Chaff In My Mouth.