Kill Not The Moth Nor

In Your Own Bosom You Bear Your Heaven And Earth, And All You Behold, Though It Appears Without, It Is Within, In Your Imagination, Of Which This World Of Mortality Is But A Shadow.

Does The Eagle Know What Is In The Pit Or Wilt Thou Go Ask The Mole? Can Wisdom Be Put In A Silver Rod, Or Love In A Golden Bowl?

O Earth, O Earth, Return! Arise From Out The Dewy Grass; Night Is Worn; And The Morn Rises From The Slumbrous Mass.

Thou Fair-hair'd Angel Of The Evening, Now, Whilst The Sun Rests On The Mountains, Light Thy Bright Torch Of Love; Thy Radiant Crown Put On, And Smile Upon Our Evening Bed!

The Busy Bee Has No Time For Sorrow.