I Would Sooner Fail Than

I Have So Much Of You In My Heart.

Fade Far Away, Dissolve, And Quite Forget.

Wine Is Only Sweet To Happy Men.

When The Melancholy Fit Shall Fall Sudden From Heaven Like A Weeping Cloud, That Fosters The Droop-headed Flowers All, And Hides The Green Hill In An April Shroud; Then Glut Thy Sorrow On A Morning Rose.

Dry Your Eyes O Dry Your Eyes, For I Was Taught In Paradise To Ease My Breast Of Melodies.