And As She Looked Around, She Saw

It Is True, That It Is Not At All Necessary To Love Many Books, In Order To Love Them Much.

The Atmosphere Breathes Rest And Comfort, And The Many Chambers Seem Full Of Welcomes.

Gone Are The Living, But The Dead Remain, And Not Neglected; For A Hand Unseen, Scattering Its Bounty Like A Summer Rain, Still Keeps Their Graves And Their Remembrance Green.

Well I Know The Secret Places, And The Nests In Hedge And Tree; At What Doors Are Friendly Faces, In What Hearts Are Thoughts Of Me.

None But Yourself Who Are Your Greatest Foe.