The Mother's Kiss Is The

Four Ducks On A Pond, / A Grass-bank Beyond, / A Blue Sky Of Spring, / White Clouds On The Wing: / What A Little Thing / To Remember For Years - / To Remember With Tears!.

A Man Who Keeps A Diary Pays, Due Toll To Many Tedious Days; But Life Becomes Eventful—then, His Busy Hand Forgets The Pen. Most Books, Indeed, Are Records Less Of Fulness Than Of Emptiness.

Sin We Have Explain'd Away; Unluckily, The Sinners Stay.

Tantarrara! The Joyous Book Of Spring Lies Open, Writ In Blossoms.

Pluck Not The Wayside Flower; It Is The Traveler's Dower.