The World is very old; (year by year) It groweth new again

I am the soldier of the field, All armed with swords and spears Which looks so brave to-day, Shall turn to softest thistle-down / Words can never, never tell Half the beauty ... Fold on fold of purest white

"I wish this flower had a name," said White Violet, softly touching the velvety blue petals. "Maybe it has.
I '11 ask the queen."
" No," said the queen, when she was asked, "that
flower is too little to have a name. But every time you look at it, please think of the sunshine and the blue sky, and forget me not."

8 tracks