All Nature Is But Art Unknown To

There Is A Certain Majesty In Simplicity Which Is Far Above All The Quaintness Of Wit.

Women Use Lovers As They Do Cards; They Play With Them A While, And When They Have Got All They Can By Them, Throw Them Away, Call For New Ones, And Then Perhaps Lose By The New All They Got By The Old Ones.

Sickness Is A Sort Of Early Old Age; It Teaches Us A Diffidence In Our Earthly State.

Like Following Life Through Creatures You Dissect, You Lose It In The Moment You Detect.

On Cold December Fragrant Chaplets Blow, And Heavy Harvests Nod Beneath The Snow.