In the smallest cot there is room enough for a loving pair. Each other every wish they give; not to know love is not to live.
That valleys, groves, or hills, or fields, or woods and steepest mountains yield. The wide, wide world could not inclose thee. Love is the history of a woman's life; it is an episode in man's. To lift from earth our low desire.
Behold me! I am worthy! The white moth to the closing vine, the bee to the open clover.
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