I Have A Bone To Pick With

It Is The Mind That Makes The Body Rich; And As The Sun Breaks Through The Darkest Clouds, So Honor Peereth In The Meanest Habit.

Sorrow Breaks Seasons And Reposing Hours, Makes The Night Morning, And The Noontide Night.

Poor And Content Is Rich, And Rich Enough.

It Is Not Night When I Do See Your Face.

An Overflow Of Good Converts To Bad.