I Ask Not For Any Crown But

Conceit Spoils The Finest Genius.

Oft In The Silence Of The Night, When The Lonely Moon Rides High, When Wintry Winds Are Whistling, And We Hear The Owl's Shrill Cry, In The Quiet, Dusky Chamber, By The Flickering Firelight, Rising Up Between Two Sleepers, Comes A Spirit All In White.

We'll All Grow Up Meg, No Pretending We Won't.

Back To Him She Would Never Go, But In Her Lonely Life Still Lived The Sweet Memory Of That Happy Time When She Believed In Him And He Was All In All To Her.

Be Worthy Love, And Love Will Come.