Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt.
Shakspeare.
Who never doubted never half believed,
Where doubt there truth is—’tis her shadow.
Bailey.
When first, with all a lover’s pride,
I wooed and won thee for my bride,
I little thought that thou couldst be
Estranged as now thou art from me!
Anon.
Thy confidence is held from me,
In fear my love but shows,
Like one, art thou, who fears the bee
May sting thee, through the rose.
Pansy.... Think of me.
The Pansy, or Heart’s-ease, is a beautiful variety of the Violet, differing from it in the diversity of its colours. In fragrance it is inferior to the Violet. Pansy is an old English corruption of the French Pensée.