That Queen Of Secrecy, The Violet.

I Do Think Better Of Womankind Than To Suppose They Care Whether Mister John Keats Five Feet High Likes Them Or Not.

A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever: Its Loveliness Increases; It Will Never Pass Into Nothingness.

Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To Weeds Or Flowers.

Alas! When Passion Is Both Meek And Wild!

Through The Dancing Poppies Stole A Breeze, Most Softly Lulling To My Soul.