Alas! Never Had I Loved

We Wove A Web In Childhood, A Web Of Sunny Air; We Dug A Spring In Infancy Of Water Pure And Fair; We Sowed In Youth A Mustard Seed, We Cut An Almond Rod; We Are Now Grown Up To Riper Age— Are They Withered In The Sod?

I Had Not Seen "pride And Prejudice," Till I Read That Sentence Of Yours, And Then I Got The Book. And What Did I Find? An Accurate Daguerreotyped Portrait Of A Common-place Face; A Carefully Fenced, Highly Cultivated Garden, With Neat Borders And Delicate Flowers; But No Glance Of A Bright, Vivid Physiognomy, No Open Country, No Fresh Air, No Blue Hill, No Bonny Beck. I Should Hardly Like To Live With Her Ladies And Gentlemen, In Their Elegant But Confined Houses.

Poverty, For Me, Is Synonymous With Degradation.

Everyone Else Is Just Cocktails.

The Man Of Regular Life And Rational Mind Never Despairs.