Joy, Whose Hand Is Ever At His

I Am Certain Of Nothing But The Holiness Of The Heart's Affections, And The Truth Of Imagination.

Pensive They Sit, And Roll Their Languid Eyes.

Here Are Sweet Peas, On Tiptoe For A Flight; With Wings Of Gentle Flush O'er Delicate White, And Taper Fingers Catching At All Things, To Bind Them All About With Tiny Rings.

That Queen Of Secrecy, The Violet.

The Only Means Of Strengthening One's Intellect Is To Make Up One's Mind About Nothing, To Let The Mind Be A Thoroughfare For All Thoughts.