Silence Is The Perfect Herald Of Joy.

The Teeming Autumn Big With Rich Increase, Bearing The Wanton Burden Of The Prime Like Widowed Wombs After Their Lords Decease.

Music, Moody Food Of Us That Trade In Love.

Speak To Me As To Thy Thinkings, As Thou Dost Ruminate, And Give Thy Worst Of Thoughts The Worst Of Words.

Strikes Deeper, Grows With More Pernicious Root.

Old Time The Clock-setter.