He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My

Love's Stories Written In Love's Richest Books. To Fan The Moonbeams From His Sleeping Eyes.

I Know No Ways To Mince It In Love, But Directly To Say - I Love You

Instead Of Weeping When A Tragedy Occurs In A Songbird's Life, It Sings Away Its Grief. I Believe We Could Well Follow The Pattern Of Our Feathered Friends.

A Maiden Hath No Tongue--but Thought.

A Sentence Is But A Cheveril Glove To A Good Wit; How Quickly The Wrong Side May Be Turned Outward!