A Poem Round And Perfect As A

Vanity In Its Idler Moments Is Benevolent, Is As Willing To Give Pleasure As To Take It, And Accepts As Sufficient Reward For Its Services A Kind Word Or An Approving Smile.

In My Garden, Care Stops At The Gate And Gazes At Me Wistfully Through The Bars.

Fine Phrases I Value More Than Bank-notes. I Have Ear For No Other Harmony Than The Harmony Of Words. To Be Occasionally Quoted Is The Only Fame I Care For.

Thoughts Must Come Naturally, Like Wild-flowers; They Cannot Be Forced In A Hot-bed, Even Although Aided By The Leaf-mould Of Your Past.

Most Brilliant Star Upon The Crest Of Time Is England. England!