Earth Is A Merry Damsel, And Heaven

Till It Has Loved, No Man Or Woman Can Become Itself.

When He Tells Us About His Father, We Distrust Him. When He Shows Us His Home, We Turn Away, But When He Confides To Us That He Is Acquainted With Grief, We Listen, For That Also Is An Acquaintance Of Our Own.

A Little Madness In The Spring Is Wholesome Even For The King.

I Could Not Prove The Years Had Feet-/yet Confident They Run.

The Pedigree Of Honey Does Not Concern The Bee; A Clover, Any Time, To Him Is Aristocracy.