Sing It Not In Mournful Numbers.

Nature Is The Living, Visible Garment Of God.

You Don't Love If You Don't Take The Beloved's Faults For Virtues.

Someday Perhaps The Inner Light Will Shine Forth From Us, And The We'll Need No Other Light.

I Come More And More To The Conclusion That One Must Take The Side Of The Minority Which Is Always The More Intelligent One.

The Bed Of Flowers Loosens Amain, The Beauteous Snowdrops Droop O'er The Plain. The Crocus Opens Its Glowing Bud, Like Emeralds Others, Others, Like Blood. With Saucy Gesture Primroses Flare, And Roguish Violets, Hidden With Care; And Whatsoever There Stirs And Strives, The Spring's Contented, If Works And Thrives.