Moods


Oh that a Song would sing itself to me
Out of the heart of Nature, or the heart
Of man, the child of Nature, not of Art,
Fresh as the morning, salt as the salt sea,
With just enough of bitterness to be
A medicine to this sluggish mood, and start
The life-blood in my veins, and so impart
Healing and help in this dull lethargy!
Alas! not always doth the breath of song
Breathe on us. It is like the wind that bloweth
At its own will, not ours, nor tarries long;
We hear the sound thereof, but no man knoweth
From whence it comes, so sudden and swift and strong,
Nor whither in its wayward course it goeth. 


 

New

Song by Longfellow

Tell Me The Stories of Jesus

Lady of the Lake

Enchanted Garden

Renaissance Garden

The Box

Lancelot and Genevieve

Lady Of Shallot

Beauty to Behold

Beauty In The Night

I Look Across The Sea

Swan Lake

Wild Swans

Will You Wear My Favor?

Sleeping Beauty 

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