Fancy, Like The Finger Of

They Whom Truth And Wisdom Lead, Can Gather Honey From A Weed.

All Constraint, / Except What Wisdom Lays On Evil Men, / Is Evil.

How Sweet, How Passing Sweet, Is Solitude! But Grant Me Still A Friend In My Retreat, Whom I May Whisper, Solitude Is Sweet.

Vice Stings Us Even In Our Pleasures, But Virtue Consoles Us Even In Our Pains.

Go, Mark The Matchless Working Of The Power That Shuts Within The Seed The Future Flower; Bids These In Elegance Of Form Excel. In Color These, And Those Delight The Smell; Sends Nature Forth, The Daughter Of The Skies, To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes.