Judge Tenderly Of Me.

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

To See Her Is A Picture- To Hear Her Is A Tune- To Know Her An Intemperance As Innocent As June- To Know Her Not-affliction- To Own Her For A Friend A Warmth As Near As If The The Sun Were Shining In Your Hand.

The Heart Asks Pleasure--first-- And Then--excuse From Pain

Narcotics Cannot Still The Tooth. That Nibbles At The Soul

To Multiply The Harbors Does Not Reduce The Sea.