Through The Dripping Weeks That Follow One

Perhaps A Maiden's Bashfulness Is More A Matron's Lesson Than Our Lips Aver.

Exclusiveness In A Garden Is A Mistake As Great As It Is In Society.

Tis True Among Fields And Woods I Sing, Aloof From Cities--that My Poor Strains Were Born, Like The Simple Flowers You Bring, In English Meadows And English Lanes.

We Are All Alike, And We Love To Keep Passion Aglow At Our Feet, Like One That Sitteth In Shade And Complacently Smiles At The Heat.

Tears Are Summer Showers To The Soul.