Making all things shine; that is your noble art. ‘twas you who poured the gold into each atom of my heart. Yours was the kiss that kindled this bright candle in my breast,
I know three comely misses named April, May and June; with tulips, they blow kisses; with blackbirds, whistle tunes. And over hills and vales, each wears a long, green velvet gown;
Autumn Vow When the oestrogen of green has gone, I’ll still love you as I did in spring; When the wind turns harsh and night grows long; While the fires of anthocyanin