Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery

She Stood Breast-high Amid The Corn Clasp'd By The Golden Light Of Morn, Like The Sweetheart Of The Sun, Who Many A Glowing Kiss Had Won.

A Certain Portion Of The Human Race Has Certainly A Taste For Being Diddled.

Boughs Are Daily Rifled By The Gusty Thieves, And The Book Of Nature Getteth Short Of Leaves.

A Name, It Has More Than Nominal Worth, And Belongs To Good Or Bad Luck At Birth

Coquetry Is The Champagne Of Love.