I Would Die At The Stake Rather

A Kiss Is A Rosy Dot Placed On The "i" In Loving.

To Offend Is My Pleasure; I Love To Be Hated.

Where Lurk Sweet Echoes Of The Dear Homevoices, Each Note Of Which Calls Like A Little Sister, Those Airs Slow, Slow Ascending, As The Smokewreaths Rise From The Hearthstones Of Our Native Hamlets Cyrano Act 5.

All My Laurels You Have Riven Away, And My Roses; Yet In Spite Of You, There Is One Crown I Bear Away With Me... One Thing Without Stain, Unspotted From The World, In Spite Of Doom Mine Own! And That Is... My White Plume.

My Soul, Be Satisfied With Flowers, With Fruit, With Weeds Even; But Gather Them In The One Garden You May Call Your Own.