Take It, And Turn To Facts My

A Kiss, When All Is Said, What Is It? A Rosy Dot Placed On The 'i' In Loving; Tis A Secret Told To The Mouth Instead Of To The Ear.

Your Name Hangs In My Heart Like A Bell's Tongue.

Where Lurk Sweet Echoes Of The Dear Homevoices, Each Note Of Which Calls Like A Little Sister, Those Airs Slow, Slow Ascending, As The Smokewreaths Rise From The Hearthstones Of Our Native Hamlets Cyrano Act 5.

And If Kisses In These Words Could Travel Too, Madam, You'd Read This Letter With Your Lips.

My Wit Is Sharper Then The Finest Mustache, And When I Walk Among Men I Make Truths Ring Like Spurs.