September's Baccalaureate A Combination Is Of Crickets

Enough Is So Vast A Sweetness I Suppose It Never Occurs.

When A Lover Is A Beggar Abject Is His Knee. When A Lover Is An Owner Different Is He.

The Crime, From Us, Is Hidden, [though] He Is Presumed To Know.

If I Read A Book And It Makes My Whole Body So Cold No Fire Can Ever Warm Me, I Know That Is Poetry.

How Very Sad It Is To Have A Confiding Nature, One's Hopes And Feelings Are Quite At The Mercy Of All Who Come Along; And How Very Desirable To Be A Stolid Individual, Whose Hopes And Aspirations Are Safe In One's Waistcoat Pocket, And That A Pocket Indeed, And One Not To Be Picked!