Fair As A Lily, And Not Only

You Know Full Well As I Do The Value Of Sisters' Affections: There Is Nothing Like It In This World.

Tact, If It Be Genuine, Never Sleeps.

A Waft Of Wind Came Sweeping Down The Laurel-walk, And Trembled Through The Boughs Of The Chestnut: It Wandered Away-away-to An Indefinite Distance-it Died. The Nightingale's Song Was Then The Only Voice Of The Hour: In Listening To It, I Again Wept.

I Am Not An Angel," I Asserted; "and I Will Not Be One Till I Die: I Will Be Myself.

My Love Has Placed Her Little Hand With Noble Faith In Mine, And Vowed That Wedlock's Sacred Band Our Nature Shall Entwine. My Love Has Sworn, With Sealing Kiss, With Me To Live -- To Die; I Have At Last My Nameless Bliss: As I Love -- Loved Am I!