The wild-flower wreath of feeling, the sunbeam of the heart.
Beauty,--the fading rainbow's pride.
They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty. - Fitz
What is man's love? His vows are broke even while his parting kiss is warm.
None knew thee but to love thee.
I cannot spare the luxury of believing that all things beautiful are what they seem.