The Wreck Of The Hesperus But The

Love Makes Its Record In Deeper Colors As We Grow Out Of Childhood Into Manhood.

There Is A Beautiful Spirit Breathing Now Its Mellowed Richness On The Clustered Trees, And, From A Beaker Full Of Richest Dyes, Pouring New Glory On The Autumn Woods, And Dipping In Warm Light The Pillared Clouds. Morn On The Mountain, Like A Summer Bird, Lifts Up Her Purple Wing, And In The Vales The Gentle Wind, A Sweet And Passionate Wooer, Kisses The Blushing Leaf, And Stirs Up Life Within The Solemn Woods Of Ash Deep-crimsoned, And Silver Beech, And Maple Yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, Like A Faint Old Man, Sits Down By The Wayside A-weary.

Behind The Clouds Is The Sun Still Shining.

Sometimes We May Learn More From A Man's Errors, Than From His Virtues.

What Else Remains For Me? Youth, Hope And Love; To Build A New Life On A Ruined Life.