To Feel Forever Its Soft Fall And

Season Of Mists And Mellow Fruitfulness, Close Bosom-friend Of The Maturing Sun; Conspiring With Him How To Load And Bless With Fruit The Vines That Round The Thatch-eves Run; To Bend With Apples The Moss’d Cottage-trees, And Fill All Fruit With Ripeness To The Core; To Swell The Gourd, And Plump The Hazel Shells With A Sweet Kernel; To Set Budding More, And Still More, Later Flowers For The Bees, Until They Think Warm Days Will Never Cease, For Summer Has O’er-brimm’d Their Clammy Cells.

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

Where The Nightingale Doth Sing Not A Senseless, Tranced Thing, But Divine Melodious Truth.

It Keeps Eternal Whisperings Around Desolate Shores

Thou Foster-child Of Silence And Slow Time.