When'er Into Thine Eyes I See, All

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers, And As The Human Heart, Imagining Itself Alone And Unwatched, Feels Most Deeply In The Night-time, So Seems It As If The Flowers, In Musing Modesty, Await The Mantling Eventide Ere They Give Themselves Up Wholly To Feeling...

At First I Was Almost About To Despair, I Thought I Never Could Bear It — But I Did I Bear It. The Question Remains: How?

The Violets Prattle And Titter, And Gaze On The Stars High Above.

Ordinarily He Was Insane, But He Had Lucid Moments When He Was Merely Stupid

And Once Again We Plighted Our Troth, And Titter'd, Caress'd, Kiss'd So Dearly.