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The passionate summer's deud! The sky's aglow

With roseate flushes of maturd desire; The winds at eve are musical and low

As sweeping chords of a lamenting lyre.

Paul H. HAYNE.

Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion of the rose ; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

Shakespear. Love doth make the heavens to move, And the sun doth burn in love.

Giles Fletcher. October 2.

Let all whining lovers go hang :
My heart would you hit,

Tip your arrow with wit,
And it comes to my heart with a twang.

She's a good sign, but I have seen
Small reflection of her wit.


(Cymbeline). October 3. As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman. Though she bends him, she obeys him ; Though she draws him, yet she follows.


Wong of Hiawatha). Love the strong and weak doth yoke, And makes the ivy climb the oak.

Marquis of Montrose. October 2.

October 3.

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