For of all hard things to bear and grin, / The hardest is knowing you're taken in.

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.

But whenever she thanks the givers for favors great and small, she thinks of the good little sister who gave her more than they all.

Laugh out, O stream, from your bed of green, / Where you lie in the sun's embrace; / And talk to the reeds that o'er you lean / To touch your dimpled face.

Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?

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