I Love Not To Be Choked With

But, Bless Us, Things May Be Lovable That Are Not Altogether Handsome, I Hope?

Anger Seek It Prey,-- Something To Tear With Sharp-edged Tooth And Claw, Like Not To Go Off Hungry, Leaving Love To Feast On Milk And Honeycomb At Will.

We Hand Folks Over To God's Mercy, And Show None Ourselves.

I Love Words; They Are The Quoits, The Bows, The Staves That Furnish The Gymnasium Of The Mind.

In Travelling I Shape Myself Betimes To Idleness And Take Fools' Pleasure