Is Not Thy Home Among The Flowers?

A Melancholy Sound Is In The Air, A Deep Sigh In The Distance, A Shrill Wail Around My Dwelling. 'tis The Wind Of Night.

The Little Wind-flower, Whose Just Opened Eye Is Blue As The Spring Heaven It Gazes At.

The Groves Were God's First Temples.

I Shall Seethe Hour Of Death Draw Near To Me,hope, Blossoming Within My Heart. . . .

The Breath Of Springtime At This Twilight Hour Comes Through The Gathering Glooms, And Bears The Stolen Sweets Of Many A Flower Into My Silent Rooms.