God Will Pardon Me. It Is His

It Is Only Kindred Griefs That Draw Forth Our Tears, And Each Weeps Really For Himself.

The Butterfly Long Loved The Beautiful Rose, And Flirted Around All Day; While Round Him In Turn With Her Golden Caress, Soft Fluttered The Sun's Warm Ray.... I Know Not With Whom The Rose Was In Love, But I Know That I Loved Them All. The Butterfly, Rose, And The Sun's Bright Ray, The Star And The Bird's Sweet Call.

Whatever Tears One May Shed, In The End One Always Blows One's Nose.

The Swan, Like The Soul Of The Poet, By The Dull World Is Ill Understood.

Poverty Sits By The Cradle Of All Our Great Men And Rocks All Of Them To Manhood.