There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.
Tears are the showers that fertilize this world.
I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.
It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.
I have lived to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered.
How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.