Deep In The Sun-searched Growths The Dragonfly

Your Eyes Smile Peace.

Beauty Without The Beloved Is A Like A Sword Through The Heart.

Love, Which Is Quickly Kindled In The Gentle Heart, Seized This Man For The Fair Form That Was Taken From Me, The Manner Still Hurts Me. Love Which Absolves No Beloved One From Loving, Seized Me So Strongly With His Charm That, As Thou Seest, It Does Not Leave Me Yet

The Wombat Is A Joy, A Triumph, A Delight, A Madness!

This Sunlight Shames November Where He Grieves In Dead Red Leaves, And Will Not Let Him Shun The Day, Though Bough With Bough Be Overrun. But With A Blessing Every Glade Receives High Salutation.