Oh, Bring Again My Heart's Content, Thou

Pluck Not The Wayside Flower; It Is The Traveler's Dower.

The Mother's Kiss Is The Sweetest Thing Ever.

Four Ducks On A Pond, / A Grass-bank Beyond, / A Blue Sky Of Spring, / White Clouds On The Wing: / What A Little Thing / To Remember For Years - / To Remember With Tears!.

The Trees Are Indian Princes, But Soon They'll Turn To Ghosts; The Scanty Pears And Apples Hang Russet On The Bough; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn Late, 'twill Soon Be Winter Now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin Dear! And What Will This Poor Robin Do? For Pinching Days Are Near.

Tantarrara! The Joyous Book Of Spring Lies Open, Writ In Blossoms.