Once she kissed me with a jest, Once with a tear — O where's the heart was in my breast, And the ring was in my ear? - Eleanor Farjeon

The little White Chapel Is ringing its bell With a ring-a-ding-dong, All day long

My harp and I a-wandering Went over Snowdon Mountain, From Anglesey to Swansea Bay It sang like any fountain.

Women are so strangely constructed that they have in them darkness as well as light, though it be but a little curtain hung across the sun. And love is the hand that takes the curtain down, a stronger hand than fear, which hung it up. For all the ill that is in us comes from fear, and all the good from love.