Give plenty of what is given to you, And listen to pity's call. Don't think the little you give is great, And the much you get is small.

Come up, April, though the valley, / In your robes of beauty drest, / Come and wake your flowery children / From their wintry beds of rest.

Sometimes, I think the things we see are shadows of the things to be; that what we plan we build

But alas for the dreams that round us play! / For the plans of mortal making! / And alas for the false and fickle day / That looked so fair at waking!

I think true love is never blind, / But rather brings an added light; / An inner vision quick to find / The beauties hid from common sight.

Women are only told that they resemble angels when they are young and beautiful; consequently, it is their persons, not their virtues, that procure them homage.

I know not which I love the most, Nor which the comeliest shows, The timid, bashful violet Or the royal-hearted rose: The pansy in purple dress, The pink with cheek of red, Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs, Like a bashful maid her head.