Love Is A Game-yes? I

All Recurring Joy Is Pain Refined.

Life Is A Stream On Which We Strew Petal By Petal The Flower Of Our Heart.

My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of Man Starves And Dies.

In My Stiff, Brocaded Gown. With My Powdered Hair And Jeweled Fan, I Too Am A Rare Pattern.