Through The Dancing Poppies Stole A Breeze,

The Poetry Of The Earth Is Never Dead.

Four Seasons Fill The Measure Of The Year; There Are Four Seasons In The Minds Of Men.

I Am Sailing With Thee Through The Dizzy Sky! How Beautiful Thou Art!

I Always Made An Awkward Bow.

But Let Me See Thee Stoop From Heaven On Wings That Fill The Sky With Silver Glitterings!