The Heart, Like The Mind,

It Is The Harvest Moon! On Gilded Vanes And Roofs Of Villages, On Woodland Crests And Their Aerial Neighborhoods Of Nests Deserted, On The Curtained Window-panes Of Rooms Where Children Sleep, On Country Lanes And Harvest-fields, Its Mystic Splendor Rests.

How In The Turmoil Of Life Can Love Stand, Where There Is Not One Heart, And One Mouth And One Hand.

Music Is The Language Spoken By Angels.

I Do Not Believe Anyone Can Be Perfectly Well, Who Has A Brain And A Heart

The Sky Is Filled With Stars, Invisible By Day.