Hope Is Like A Hairball Trembling From

To Her Whose Heart Is My Heart's Quiet Home, To My First Love, My Mother, On Whose Knee I Learnt Love-lore That Is Not Troublesome.

We Must Not Look At Goblin Men, We Must Not Buy Their Fruits: Who Knows Upon What Soil They Fed Their Hungry Thirsty Roots?

Where Are The Songs I Used To Know, Where Are The Notes I Used To Sing? I Have Forgotten Everything I Used To Know So Long Ago. ("the Key-note")

She Gave Up Beauty In Her Tender Youth, Gave All Her Hope And Joy And Pleasant Ways; She Covered Up Her Eyes Lest They Should Gaze On Vanity, And Chose The Bitter Truth.

My Heart Is Like A Singing Bird Whose Nest Is In A Water'd Shoot; My Heart Is Like An Apple-tree Whose Boughs Are Bent With Thick-set Fruit.