A Witty Woman Is A Treasure; A

As We To The Brutes, Poets Are To Us.

Full Lasting Is The Song, Though He, / The Singer, Passes.

Behold The Life At Ease; It Drifts, The Sharpened Life Commands Its Course.

I Know Him, February's Thrush, And Loud At Eve He Valentines On Sprays That Paw The Naked Bush Where Soon Will Sprout The Thorns And Bines.

Not Till The Fire Is Dying In The Grate, Look We For Any Kinship With The Stars.