The Quaker Loves An Ample Brim, A

What Joy Have I In June's Return? My Feet Are Parched-my Eyeballs Burn, I Scent No Flowery Gust; But Faint The Flagging Zephyr Springs, With Dry Macadam On Its Wings, And Turns Me 'dust To Dust.'

Coquetry Is The Champagne Of Love.

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright And Yellow, Hard And Cold!

I Love Thee - I Love Thee, 'tis All That I Can Say, It Is My Vision In The Night, My Dreaming In The Day.

Dear Bells! How Sweet The Sound Of Village Bells When On The Undulating Air They Swim!