If People Knew How Much I Hated

Striving To Better, Oft We Mar What’s Well.

Bow, Stubborn Knees, And, Heart With Strings Of Steel, Be Soft As Sinews Of The New-born Babe. All Many Be Well.

How Sometimes Nature Will Betray Its Folly, Its Tenderness, And Make Itself A Pastime To Harder Bosoms!

Thoughts Are But Dreams Till Their Effects Are Tried.

One Whom The Music Of His Own Vain Tongue Doth Ravish Like Enchanting Harmony.