If You Become A Nun,

We Are Violets Blue, For Our Sweetness Found Careless In The Mossy Shades, Looking On The Ground. Love's Dropp'd Eyelids And A Kiss,-- Such Our Breath And Blueness Is.

Anglers Boast Of The Innocence Of Their Pastime; Yet It Puts Fellow-creatures To The Torture. They Pique Themselves On Their Meditative Faculties; And Yet Their Only Excuse Is A Want Of Thought.

No Wonder Is Greater Than Any Other Wonder, And If Once Explained Ceases To Be A Wonder.

Green Little Vaulter, In The Sunny Grass, Catching Your Heart Up At The Feel Of June, Sole Noise That's Heard Amidst The Lazy Noon, When Ev'n The Bees Lag At The Summoning Brass.

Colors Are The Smiles Of Nature. When They Are Extremely Smiling, And Break Forth Into Other Beauty Besides, They Are Her Laughs.