He Prayeth Best Who Loveth Best.

He Knows Well The Evening Star, And Once When He Awoke, In A Most Distressful Mood (some Inward Pain Had Made Up That Strange Thing, An Infant's Dream), I Hurried With Him To Our Orchard Plot, And He Beheld The Moon, And Hushed At Once. Suspends His Sobs And Laughs Most Silently. While His Fair Eyes, That Swam With Undropped Tears, Did Glitter In The Yellow Moonbeam.

Indignation At Literary Wrongs I Leave To Men Born Under Happier Stars. I Cannot Afford It.

The History Of Man For The Nine Months Preceding His Birth Would, Probably, Be Far More Interesting And Contain Events Of Greater Moment Than All The Three Score And Ten Years That Follow It.

Silence Does Not Always Mark Wisdom.

God! Sing, Ye Meadow-streams, With Gladsome Voice! Ye Pine-groves, With Your Soft And Soul-like Sounds! And They Too Have A Voice, You Piles Of Snow, And In Their Perilous Fall Shall Thunder, God!