With How Much Ease Believe We What

Love And Time With Reverence Use, Treat Them Like A Parting Friend: Nor The Golden Gifts Refuse Which In Youth Sincere They Send: For Each Year Their Price Is More, And They Less Simple Than Before.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.

Take Not Away The Life You Cannot Give: For All Things Have An Equal Right To Live.

He Who Trusts Secrets To A Servant Makes Him His Master

You See Through Love, And That Deludes Your Sight, As What Is Straight Seems Crooked Through The Water.