Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare.

The Fabric Of My Faithful Love No Power Shall Dim Or Ravel Whilst I Stay Here - But Oh, My Dear, If I Should Ever Travel!

There Isn't A Train I Wouldn't Take, No Matter Where It's Going.

Ah! Up Then From The Ground Sprang I And Hailed The Earth With Such A Cry As Is Not Heard Save From A Man Who Has Been Dead, And Lives Again. About The Trees My Arms I Wound; Like One Gone Mad I Hugged The Ground; I Raised My Quivering Arms On High; I Laughed And Laughed Into The Sky.

She Learned Her Hands In A Fairy-tale, And Her Mouth On A Valentine.

Love Is Not All; It Is Not Meat Nor Drink.