Swift Doth Young Love Flee,

Heiresses Are Never Jilted.

The Sun Is Coming Down To Earth, And The Fields And The Waters Shout To Him Golden Shouts.

The Well Of True Wit Is Truth Itself.

Darker Grows The Valley, More And More Forgetting: So Were It With Me If Forgetting Could Be Willed. Tell The Grassy Hollow That Holds The Bubbling Well-spring, Tell It To Forget The Source That Keeps It Filled.

Observation Is The Most Enduring Of The Pleasures Of Life.