To Offend Is My Pleasure;

Your Name Hangs In My Heart Like A Bell's Tongue.

You Must Believe Me When I Believe, And Not When I Doubt.

She Is A Mortal Danger Without Meaning To Be One; She's Exquisite Without Giving Ita Thought; Shes A Trap Set By Nature, A Rose In Which Love Lies In Ambush! Anyone Who Has Seen Her Smile Has Known Perfection. She Creates Grace Without Movement And Makes All Divinity Fit Into Her Slightest Gesture. And Neither Venus In Her Shell, Nor Diana Striding In The Great, Blossoming Forest, Can Compare To Her When She Goes Through The Streets Of Paris In Her Sedan Chair.

Stay Awhile! 'tis Sweet,. . . The Rare Occasion, When Our Hearts Can Speak Our Selves Unseen, Unseeing!

And If Kisses In These Words Could Travel Too, Madam, You'd Read This Letter With Your Lips.