I verily believe that I never took infant in my arms that did not the moment it was there by its cries beg to be removed.

The days are cold, the nights are long, The North wind sings a doleful song; Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty love!

The moonlight lay upon the hills like snow.

I've been a dweller on the plains, have sighed when summer days were gone; No more I'll sigh; for winter here Hath gladsome gardens of his own.

I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew among the mossy stones about and above them; some rested their heads upon these stones, as on a pillow, for weariness.

The moon had the old moon in her arms.

An injudicious and malignant enemy often serves the cause he means to injure; but a feeble friend never attains that end.