.... . in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah why With cypress branches hast thon wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh ? As those who dote on odours pluck the Sowers, And place them on their breast— bat place to die — Thns the frail beings we would fondly...

...What is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter...sigh? As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, Madame Guiccioli's copy of Corinne™ the following remarkable note: "My dearest Teresa — I have...

...in its courted and wearied man of fashion and of pleasure. He loved her, as we love very rarely, for As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their hreast, but place to die ; Thus the frail beings we should fondiy cherish Are laid within our bosoms...