Father Of Rosy Day, No More Thy

Extremes Meet', As The Whiting Said With Its Tail In Its Mouth.

A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring , :;:; Must Be A Spoon.

No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Birds - November!

Some Dreams We Have Are Nothing Else But Dreams, Unnatural And Full Of Contradictions; Yet Others Of Our Most Romantic Schemes, Are Something More Than Fictions.

He Lies Like A Hedgehog Rolled Up The Wrong Way, Tormenting Himself With His Prickles.