Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
A flute with no holes is not a flute.
The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling