Any Relic Of The Dead

You Know That I Could As Soon Forget You As My Existence!

Tis Moonlight, Summer Moonlight, All Soft And Still And Fair; The Solemn Hour Of Midnight Breathes Sweet Thoughts Everywhere, But Most Where Trees Are Sending Their Breezy Boughs On High, Or Stooping Low Are Lending A Shelter From The Sky. And There In Those Wild Bowers A Lovely Form Is Laid; Green Grass And Dew-steeped Flowers Wave Gently Round Her Head.

I Shall Smile When Wreaths Of Snow Blossom Where The Rose Should Grow.

If I Could I Would Always Work In Silence And Obscurity, And Let My Efforts Be Known By Their Results.

You're Hard To Please: So Many Friends And So Few Cares, And Can't Make Yourself Content.