The Only Means Of Strengthening One's Intellect

Of Love, That Fairest Joys Give Most Unrest.

I Always Made An Awkward Bow.

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.

I Almost Wish We Were Butterflies And Liv'd But Three Summer Days - Three Such Days With You I Could Fill With More Delight Than Fifty Common Years Could Ever Contain.

Where Are The Songs Of Spring? Aye, Where Are They? Think Not Of Them; Thou Has Thy Music Too.