look for a lovely thing and you will find it, it is not far, it never will be far
My heart is a garden tired with autumn.
Old love, old love, / How can I be true? / Shall I be faithless to myself / Or to you?
Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children's faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.
It is my heart that makes my songs, not I.
Let this single hour atone For the theft of all of me