A simple child

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): We are Seven.

When love begins to sicken and decay,

It useth an enforced ceremony.

There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Julius Caesar. Act iv. Sc. 2.

A creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): She was a Phantom of Delight.