The Bright Incarnate Spirit Of

From Sunny Woof And Cloudy Weft Fell Rain In Sheets; So, To Myself I Hummed These Hazard Rhymes, And Left The Learned Volume On The Shelf.

No One Can Rightly Call His Garden His Own Unless He Himself Made It.

There Is No Gardening Without Humility

In Vain Would Science Scan And Trace Firmly Her Aspect. All The While, There Gleams Upon Her Far-off Face A Vague Unfathomable Smile.

Perhaps A Maiden's Bashfulness Is More A Matron's Lesson Than Our Lips Aver.