There Is A Garden In Her Face,
Where Roses And White Lilies Blow;
A Heavenly Paradise Is That Place,
Wherein All Pleasant Fruits Do Grow.
There Cherries Grow That None May Buy,
Till Cherry Ripe Themselves Do Cry
I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with the roughest courage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frost-work, but the solidest thing we know.
