Flowers preach to us if we will hear.
I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?
Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago. ("The Key-Note")
Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth.
One day in the country Is worth a month in town
It's surely summer. for there's a swallow: Come one swallow, his mate will follow, The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.