A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is, To

Will You Tell Me My Fault, Frankly As To Yourself, For I Had Rather Wince, Than Die. Men Do Not Call The Surgeon To Commend The Bone, But To Set It, Sir.

Home Is The Definition Of God.

Then, As Horizons Step, Or Noons Report Away,without The Formula Of Sound, It Passes, And We Stay:a Quality Of Loss Affecting Our Content.

You Are Nipping In The Bud Fancies Which I Let Blossom. The Shore Is Safer, But I Love To Buffet The Sea - I Can Count The Bitter Wrecks Here In These Pleasant Waters, And Hear The Murmuring Winds, But Oh, I Love The Danger!

I Felt It Shelter To Speak To You.