The Crime, From Us, Is Hidden, [though]

The Older I Grow The More Do I Love Spring And Spring Flowers. Is It So With You?

His Labor Is A Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, For A Bee's Experience Of Clovers, And Of Noon!

Life Is The Finest Secret. So Long As That Remains, We Must All Whisper.

I Measure Every Grief I Meet With Narrow, Probing Eyes - I Wonder If It Weighs Like Mine - Or Has An Easier Size.

Prosperity Whose Sources Are Interior. As Soon Adversity A Diamond Overtake.