But sad as angels for the good man's sin, Weep to record, and blush to give it in.

Our purpose is to grow up and become love

Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a lovelorn heart pursuing, Read you not the wrong you're doing In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing; Wed or cease to woo.

Your belief systems limit your reality to a sub-set of the solution space that does not contain the answer.

Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue.

For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.

An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.