I Have Conversed With The Spiritual Sun.

The Nakedness Of Woman Is The Work Of God.

The Countless Gold Of A Merry Heart, The Rubies And Pearls Of A Loving Eye, The Indolent Never Can Bring To The Mart, Nor The Secret Hoard Up In His Treasury.

He Who Shall Hurt The Little Wren Shall Never Be Beloved By Men.

The Look Of Love Alarms Because 'tis Filled With Fire; But The Look Of Soft Deceit Shall Win The Lover's Hire.

As We Are, So We See.