The Lily Is All In White, Like

She Stood Breast-high Amid The Corn Clasp'd By The Golden Light Of Morn, Like The Sweetheart Of The Sun, Who Many A Glowing Kiss Had Won.

It Was Not In The Winter Our Loving Lot Was Cast! It Was The Time Of Roses, We Plucked Them As We Passed!

What Is Mind? No Matter. What Is Matter? Never Mind. What Is The Soul? It Is Immaterial.

The Biggest Bore Of All Is He Who Is Overflowing With Congratulations

How Bravely Autumn Paints Upon The Sky The Gorgeous Fame Of Summer Which Is Fled!