I Think I Shall Be Among The

I Don't Need The Stars In The Night I Found My Treasure All I Need Is You By My Side So Shine Forever

The Excellence Of Every Art Is Its Intensity.

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.

When The Melancholy Fit Shall Fall Sudden From Heaven Like A Weeping Cloud, That Fosters The Droop-headed Flowers All, And Hides The Green Hill In An April Shroud; Then Glut Thy Sorrow On A Morning Rose.

Fade Far Away, Dissolve, And Quite Forget.