Forever Is Composed Of Nows.

Nature Is What We Know - Yet Have Not Art To Say - So Impotent Our Wisdom Is To Her Simplicity.

A Dominie In Gray-- Put Gently Up The Evening Bars-- And Led The Flock Away

Apparently With No Surprise To Any Happy Flower The Frost Beheads It At Its Play -- In Accidental Power -- The Blonde Assassin Passes On -- The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

The Heart Asks Pleasure--first-- And Then--excuse From Pain

Luck Is Not Chance, It's Toil; Fortune's Expensive Smile Is Earned.