The Nakedness Of Woman Is The Work

Then Cherish Pity, Lest You Drive An Angel From Your Door.

Always Be Ready To Speak Your Mind, And A Base Man Will Avoid You.

Why A Tender Curb Upon The Youthful Burning Boy? Why A Little Curtain Of Flesh On The Bed Of Our Desire?

O Thou Who Passest Through Our Valleys In Thy Strength, Curb Thy Fierce Steeds, Allay The Heat That Flames From Their Large Nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft Pitchest Here Thy Golden Tent, And Oft Beneath Our Oaks Hast Slept, While We Beheld With Joy Thy Ruddy Limbs And Flourishing Hair.

Joy And Woe Are Woven Fine, A Clothing For The Soul Divine. Under Every Grief And Pine Runs A Joy With Silken Twine.