For Dhrames Always Go By

Where's The Snow That Fell The Year That's Fled--where's The Snow?

I'll Seek A Four Leaved Shamrock In All Thy Fairy Dells, And If I Find The Charmed Leaves, Oh, How I'll Weave My Spells!

Circumstances Are The Rulers Of The Weak; They Are But The Instruments Of The Wise.

The Neck On Which Diamonds Might Have Worthily Sparkled, Will Look Less Tempting When The Biting Winter Has Hung Icicles There For Gems.

Sure The Shovel And Tongs To Each Other Belongs.