Tears Are The Noble Language Of The

Fair Daffodils, We Weep To See You Haste Away So Soon: As Yet The Early-rising Sun Has Not Attained His Noon.

Conquer We Shall, But, We Must First Contend! It's Not The Fight That Crowns Us, But The End.

A Sweet Disorder In The Dress Kindles In Clothes A Wantonness : A Lawn About The Shoulders Thrown Into A Fine Distraction : An Erring Lace Which Here And There Enthrals The Crimson Stomacher : A Cuff Neglectful, And Thereby Ribbons To Flow Confusedly : A Winning Wave (deserving Note) In The Tempestuous Petticoat : A Careless Shoe-string, In Whose Tie I See A Wild Civility : Do More Bewitch Me Than When Art Is Too Precise In Every Part.

Like Will To Like, Each Creature Loves His Kind.

None Pities Him That Is In The Snare, Who Warned Before, Would Not Beware.