Music, In The Best Sense, Does Not

We Are Our Own Aptest Deceiver.

I Have So Much In Me, And The Feeling For Her Absorbs It All; I Have So Much, And Without Her It All Comes To Nothing.

The Bed Of Flowers Loosens Amain, The Beauteous Snowdrops Droop O'er The Plain. The Crocus Opens Its Glowing Bud, Like Emeralds Others, Others, Like Blood. With Saucy Gesture Primroses Flare, And Roguish Violets, Hidden With Care; And Whatsoever There Stirs And Strives, The Spring's Contented, If Works And Thrives.

A Plant Is Like A Self-willed Man, Out Of Whom We Can Obtain All Which We Desire, If We Will Only Treat Him His Own Way.

Nature! We Live In Her Midst And Know Her Not. She Is Incessantly Speaking To Us, But Betrays Not Her Secret. We Constantly Act Upon Her, And Yet Have No Power Over Her. Variant: Nature! We Are Surrounded And Embraced By Her: Powerless To Separate Ourselves From Her, And Powerless To Penetrate Beyond Her.