Bells Are Musics Laughter.

Well For The Drones Of The Social Hive That There Are Bees Of An Industrious Turn, Willing, For An Infinitesimal Share Of The Honey, To Undertake The Labor Of Its Fabrication.

I Saw Old Autumn In The Misty Morn Stand Shadowless Like Silence, Listening To Silence, For No Lonely Bird Would Sing Into His Hollow Ear From Woods Forlorn, Nor Lowly Hedge Nor Solitary Thorn;- Shaking His Languid Locks All Dewy Bright With Tangled Gossamer That Fell By Night, Pearling His Coronet Of Golden Corn.

But Evil Is Wrought By Want Of Thought, As Well As Want Of Heart!

A Certain Portion Of The Human Race Has Certainly A Taste For Being Diddled.

There's A Double Beauty Whenever A Swan Swims On A Lake With Her Double Thereon.