There's A Black Rose Growing In Your

O Happy, Happy Each Man Whom Predestined Fate Leads To The Holy Rite Of Hill And Mountain Worship.

Light Threatens, Is Active, Is Gone, So It Is With A Song.

Could Beauty Be Beaten Out, O Youth The Cities Have Sent To Strike At Each Other's Strength, It Is You Who Have Kept Her Alight.

We Don't Have To Know,only To Be:let Go The Jumble Of Worn Words,reason And Vanity.

I Smiled, I Waited, I Was Circumspect; O Never, Never, Never Write That I Missed Life Or Loving.