Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gathered, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!) – Walt Whitman
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; no sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet to chase the glowing hours with flying feet. – George Gordon
Music I heard with you was more than music, and bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate all that was once so beautiful is dead. – Conrad Aiken
