It was written without fear and without research.
A hangover is the wrath of grapes.
The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core. Scratch a lover and find a foe!
London is satisfied, Paris is resigned, but New York is always hopeful.
But I don't give up; I forget why not.
I never see that prettiest thing- A cherry bough gone white with Spring- But what I think, "How gay 'twould be To hang me from a flowering tree.