The Hooded Clouds, Like Friars,

Every Man Has His Secret Sorrows.

The Best Thing One Can Do When It's Raining Is To Let It Rain.

A Boy's Will Is The Wind's Will, And The Thought's Of Youth Are Long, Long Thoughhts

This Is The Forest Primeval. The Murmuring Pines And The Hemlocks, Bearded With Moss, And In Garments Green, Indistinct In The Twilight, Stand Like Druids Of Eld, With Voices Sad And Prophetic, Stand Like Harpers Hoar, With Beards That Rest On Their Bosoms. Loud From Its Rocky Caverns, The Deep-voiced Neighboring Ocean Speaks, And In Accents Disconsolate Answers The Wail Of The Forest.

Oh The Long And Dreary Winter! Oh The Cold And Cruel Winter!