Life's Battle Is A Conquest For The

The Social States Of Human Kinds Are Made By Multitudes Of Minds, And After Multitudes Of Years A Little Human Growth Appears Worth Having, Even To The Soul Who Sees Most Plain It's Not The Whole.

All Ye That Pass By! While We Least Think It He Prepares His Mate. Mate, And The King's Pawn Played, It Never Ceases, Though All The Earth Is Dust Of Taken Pieces.

O Lovely Lily Clean, O Lily Springing Green, O Lily Bursting White, Dear Lily Of Delight, Spring In My Heart Agen That I May Flower To Men.

Love Is A Flame To Set The Will On Fire

Poetry Is A Mixture Of Common Sense, Which Not All Have, With An Uncommon Sense, Which Very Few Have.