My Books Kept Me From The Ring,

Coquetry Is The Champagne Of Love.

Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume: There's Crimson Buds, And White And Blue, The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turned To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers.

For Man May Pious Texts Repeat, And Yet Religion Have No Inward Seat

And There Is Even A Happiness That Makes The Heart Afraid.

With Fingers Weary And Worn, With Eyelids Heavy And Red, A Woman Sat In Unwomanly Rags, Plying Her Needle And Thread.