The City Mouse Lives In

The Bourne Underneath The Growing Grass, Underneath The Living Flowers, Deeper Than The Sound Of Showers: There We Shall Not Count The Hours By The Shadows As They Pass. Youth And Health Will Be But Vain, Beauty Reckoned Of No Worth: There A Very Little Girth Can Hold Round What Once The Earth Seemed Too Narrow To Contain.

Love Loves For Ever, And Finds A Sort Of Joy In Pain, And Gives With Nought To Take Again, And Loves Too Well To End In Vain: Is The Gain Small Then? Love Laughs At "never", Outlives Our Life, Exceeds The Span Appointed To Mere Mortal Man: All Which Love Is And Does And Can Is All In All Then.

For There Is No Friend Like A Sister In Calm Or Stormy Weather.

Observe This Dew-drenched Rose Of Tyrian Gardens A Rose Today. But You Will Ask In Vain Tomorrow What It Is; And Yesterday It Was The Dust, The Sunshine, And The Rains.

Hope Dead Lives Nevermore, No, Not In Heaven.