Now To Rivulets From The Mountains Point

I Stay A Little Longer, As One Stays, To Cover Up The Embers That Still Burn.

Great Is The Art Of Beginning, But Greater Is The Art Of Ending.

Burn, O Evening Hearth, And Waken Pleasant Visions, As Of Old! Though The House By Winds Be Shaken, Safe I Keep This Room Of Gold!

Oh, How Beautiful Is The Summer Night, Which Is Not Night, But A Sunless, Yet Unclouded, Day, Descending Upon Earth With Dews And Shadows And Refreshing Coolness! How Beautiful The Long Mild Twilight, Which, Like A Silver Clasp, Unites Today With Yesterday!

Winter Giveth The Fields, And The Trees So Old, Their Beards Of Icicles And Snow.