It Matters Not How Long We Live

Night Comes, World-jewelled, . . . The Stars Rush Forth In Myriads As To Wage War With The Lines Of Darkness; And The Moon, Pale Ghost Of Night, Comes Haunting The Cold Earth After The Sun's Red Sea-death--quietless.

Men Might Be Better If We Better Deemed Of Them.

The Wind Breathes Not, And The Wave Walks Softly As Above A Grave.

The Value Of A Thought Cannot Be Told.

As The Master So The Valet.