The Cowslip Is A Country Wench.

The Lily Is All In White, Like A Saint, And So Is No Mate For Me.

Boughs Are Daily Rifled By The Gusty Thieves, And The Book Of Nature Getteth Short Of Leaves.

Apothegms Form A Short Cut To Much Knowledge.

Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.

We Watch'd Her Breathing Through The Night, Her Breathing Soft And Low, As In Her Breast The Wave Of Life Kept Heaving To And Fro.