From these wandering minstrels I have learned the art of song . . . .

. . . the charm with Eden never lost.

A careless boy that night he seemed . . .

We sped the time with stories old . . .

O Time and Change!

Raphael is not dead . . .

Last night the moon had a golden ring . . .

This is the poem of the air . . .

And again to the child I whispered . . .

When I was four I got a sweater . . .

A mother and her child.

I celebrate the birth of the Divine . . .

The law of force is dead!

And the brooklet has found the billow . . .

Hurra for the pumpkin pie!

Bearing each a pouch of healing,/Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter . . .

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers . . .

I stood on the bridge at midnight . . .

The clock struck twelve; the Dead hath heard . . .

Oh it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best . . .