My Life Is A Perfect Graveyard Of

Hark, I Hear A Robin Calling! List, The Wind Is From The South! And The Orchard-bloom Is Falling Sweet As Kisses On The Mouth. In The Dreamy Vale Of Beeches Fair And Faint Is Woven Mist, And The River's Orient Reaches Are The Palest Amethyst. Every Limpid Brook Is Singing Of The Lure Of April Days; Every Piney Glen Is Ringing With The Maddest Roundelays. Come And Let Us Seek Together Springtime Lore Of Daffodils, Giving To The Golden Weather Greeting On The Sun-warm Hills.

I Have A Little Brown Cocoon Of An Idea That May Possibly Expand Into A Magnificent Moth Of Fulfilment.

Anybody Is Liable To Rheumatism In Her Legs, Anne. It's Only Old People Who Should Have Rheumatism In Their Souls, Though. Thanks Goodness, I Never Have. When You Get Rheumatism In Your Soul You Might As Well Go And Pick Out Your Coffin.

Twilight Drops Her Curtain Down, And Pins It With A Star.

Their Happiness Was In Each Others Keeping, And Both Were Unafraid.