Winter's Not Gone Yet, If The Wild

First Witch He Knows Thy Thought: Hear His Speech, But Say Thou Nought.

Death Where Is Thy Sting? Love, Where Is Thy Glory?

I Have Seen Better Faces In My Time Than Stands On Any Shoulder That I See Before Me At This Instant.

Moderate Lamentation Is The Right Of The Dead, Excessive Grief The Enemy To The Living.

Winding Up Days With Toil And Nights With Sleep.