I Would Die At The

She Is A Mortal Danger Without Meaning To Be One; She's Exquisite Without Giving Ita Thought; Shes A Trap Set By Nature, A Rose In Which Love Lies In Ambush! Anyone Who Has Seen Her Smile Has Known Perfection. She Creates Grace Without Movement And Makes All Divinity Fit Into Her Slightest Gesture. And Neither Venus In Her Shell, Nor Diana Striding In The Great, Blossoming Forest, Can Compare To Her When She Goes Through The Streets Of Paris In Her Sedan Chair.

And If Kisses In These Words Could Travel Too, Madam, You'd Read This Letter With Your Lips.

A Kiss Is A Secret Which Takes The Lips For The Ear.

My Soul, Be Satisfied With Flowers, With Fruit, With Weeds Even; But Gather Them In The One Garden You May Call Your Own.

My Wit Is Sharper Then The Finest Mustache, And When I Walk Among Men I Make Truths Ring Like Spurs.