There Is A Budding Tomorrow

One Of The Most Mysterious Of Semi-speculations Is, One Would Suppose, That Of One Mind's Imagining Into Another

I Will Imagine You Venus Tonight And Pray, Pray, Pray To Your Star Like A Heathen.

Season Of Mists And Mellow Fruitfulness, Close Bosom-friend Of The Maturing Sun.

Through The Dancing Poppies Stole A Breeze, Most Softly Lulling To My Soul.

Four Seasons Fill The Measure Of The Year; There Are Four Seasons In The Minds Of Men.