A wandering minstrel I A thing of shreds and patches Of ballads, songs and snatches And dreamy lullaby!
Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year grows rich as it groweth old, And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!
Buttercups, bright eyed and bold, hold their chalices of gold to catch the sunshine and the dew.
And the stately lilies stand Fair in the silvery light, Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer; Their pure breath sanctifies the air, As its fragrance fills the night.
No mother who stands upon low ground herself can hope to place her children upon a loftier plane. They may reach it, but it will not be through her.
Stars will blossom in the darkness, Violets bloom beneath the snow.
Around in silent grandeur stood The stately children of the wood; Maple and elm and towering pine Mantled in folds of dark woodbine.
Opera is everything rolled into one - music, theater, the dance, color and voices and theatrical illusions.
I feel more Scottish than Norman.
If one accepts the 24th and 104th Psalms as scriptural norms, then surface mining and other forms of earth destruction are perversions. If we take the Gospels seriously, how can we not see industrial warfare - with its inevitable massacre of innocents - as a most shocking perversion? By the standard of all scriptures, neglect of the poor, of widows and orphans, of the sick, the homeless, the insane, is an abominable perversion.
The relationship with a live audience seems to me to count for more.