Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.

Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.

These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.

Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.