How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made

A Moment's Thought Is Passion's Passing Knell.

I Must Choose Between Despair And Energy──i Choose The Latter.

Give Me Books, French Wine, Fruit, Fine Weather And A Little Music Played Out Of Doors By Somebody I Do Not Know.

I Love Your Hills And I Love Your Dales, And I Love Your Flocks A-bleating; But Oh, On The Heather To Lie Together, With Both Our Hearts A-beating!

Pensive They Sit, And Roll Their Languid Eyes.