Maxioms by Thomas Haynes Bayly
The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.
The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.
'Tis godlike to have power, but not to kill.
'Tis godlike to have power, but not to kill.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.
She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.
