Good music is wine turned to sound

Whatever is a cruel wrong, Whatever is unjust, The honest years that speed along Will trample in the dust.

Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek And sought the mourner's side again. "Once more, dear lady, I must speak: Your last remaining son was slain Just at the closing of the fight; Twas he who sent me here to-night." "God knows," the man said afterward, "The fight itself was not so hard."

The passion you forbade my lips to utter Will not be silenced. You must hear it in The sullen thunders when they roll and mutter: And when the tempest nears, with wail and din, I know your calm forgetfulness is broken, And to your heart you whisper, "He has spoken."

While forced to dwell apart from thy dear face, Love, robed like sorrow, led me by the hand And taught my doubting heart to understand That which has puzzled all the human race.

Do you wish the world were better? Let me tell you what to do: Set a watch upon your actions, Keep them always straight and true.

I knew it the first of the summer, I knew it the same at the end, That you and your love were plighted, But couldn't you be my friend?