I See A Lily On Thy Brow,

What Is There In Thee, Moon! That Thou Should'st Move My Heart So Potently?

Who, Of Men, Can Tell That Flowers Would Bloom, Or That Green Fruit Would Swell To Melting Pulp, That Fish Would Have Bright Mail, The Earth Its Dower Of River, Wood, And Vale, The Meadows Runnels, Runnels Pebble-stones, The Seed Its Harvest, Or The Lute Its Tones, Tones Ravishment, Or Ravishment Its Sweet, If Human Souls Did Never Kiss And Greet?

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?

Love Is My Religion - I Could Die For It.

I Will Clamber Through The Clouds And Exist.