Baby smiled, mother wailed, Earthward while the sweetling sailed; Mother smiled, baby wailed, When to earth came Viola.

Spring is come home with her world-wandering feet, And all things are made young with your desires.

So for thy spirit did devise Its Maker seemly garniture, Of its own essence parcel pure.-- From grave simplicities a dress, And reticent demureness, And love encinctured with reserve; Which the woven vesture would subserve. For outward robes in their ostents Should show the soul's habiliments. Therefore I say,--Thou'rt fair even so, But better Fair I use to know.

The devil doesn't know how to sing, only how to howl.

All things by immortal power. Near of far, to each other linked are, that thou canst not stir a flower without troubling of a star.

In all change, well looked into, the germinal good out-veils the apparent ill.

Baby smiled, mother wailed, Earthward while the sweetling sailed; Mother smiled, baby wailed, When to earth came Viola.