Time Has Laid His Hand Upon My

I Love The Season Well When Forest Glades Are Teeming With Bright Forms, Nor Dark And Many-folded Clouds Foretell The Coming Of Storms.

I Love An Author The More For Having Been Himself A Lover Of Books.

Be Thy Sleep Silent As Night Is, And As Deep.

History Casts Its Shadow Far Into The Land Of Song.

A Man Must Be Of A Very Quiet And Happy Nature, Who Can Long Endure The Country; And, Moreover, Very Well Contented With His Own Insignificant Person.