My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.

Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.

For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.

A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.

What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.

Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.