The Venom Clamours Of A Jealous Woman

We Bring Forth Weeds When Our Quick Minds Lie Still.

The Happiest Youth, Viewing His Progress Through, What Perils Past, What Crosses To Ensue, Would Shut The Book, And Sit Him Down And Die.

Great Floods Have Flown From Simple Sources.

What Should We Speak Of When We Are Old As You? When We Shall Hear The Rain And Wind Beat Dark December? How, In This Our Pinching Cave, Shall We Discourse The Freezing Hours Away?

Blind Is His Love, And Best Befits The Dark.