She Who Has Never Lov'd, Has Never

Fair Is The Marigold, For Pottage Meet.

A Wolf Eats Sheep But Now And Then; Ten Thousands Are Devour'd By Men. An Open Foe May Prove A Curse, But A Pretend Friend Is Worse.

Thus Shadow Owes Its Birth To Light.

The Careful Insect 'midst His Works I View, Now From The Flowers Exhaust The Fragrant Dew, With Golden Treasures Load His Little Thighs, And Steer His Distant Journey Through The Skies.

My Lodging Is On The Cold Ground, And Hard, Very Hard, Is My Fare, But That Which Grieves Me More Is The Coldness Of My Dear.