Life Seems Like A Haunted

If Nature Built By Rule And Square, Than Man What Wiser Would She Be? What Wins Us Is Her Careless Care, And Sweet Unpunctuality.

Tears Are Summer Showers To The Soul.

Pale January Lay In Its Cradle Day By Day Dead Or Living, Hard To Say.

We Are All Alike, And We Love To Keep Passion Aglow At Our Feet, Like One That Sitteth In Shade And Complacently Smiles At The Heat.

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