Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought I Summon Up Remembrance Of Things Past, I Sigh The Lack Of Many A Thing I Sought.

When You Do Dance, I Wish You A Wave O' The Sea, That You Might Ever Do Nothing But That.

I Love Thee, And It Is My Love That Speaks

Discuss Unto Me: Art Thou Officer, Or Art Thou Base, Common, And Popular?

He Is Not Worthy Of The Honey-comb, That Shuns The Hives Because The Bees Have Stings.