Those little nimble musicians of the air that warble forth their curious...
I love such mirth as does not make friends ashamed to look upon one another...
God has two dwellings one in heaven and the other in a meek and thankful...
I have laid aside business and gone a'fishing.
How does one happen to write a poem: where does it come from? That is the question asked by the psychologists or the geneticists of poetry.
