When thou are not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop shadows on it! When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers.

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark

The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart.

Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.Under the humble walls of the little catholic churchyard,In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed;Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever,Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors,Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey!

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it.

But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.

Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.