Too Much Beauty, I Reckon, Is Nothing

He Lives Most Life Whoever Breathes Most Air.

Why, What Is To Live? Not To Eat And Drink And Breathe,—but To Feel The Life In You Down All The Fibres Of Being, Passionately And Joyfully.

So Mothers Have God's License To Be Missed.

Too Much Beauty, I Reckon, Is Nothing But Too Much Sun.

For None Can Express Thee, Though All Should Approve Thee. I Love Thee So, Dear, That I Only Can Love Thee.