Out Of The Shadows Of Night The

Many Critics Are Like Woodpeckers, Who, Instead Of Enjoying The Fruit And Shadow Of A Tree, Hop Incessantly Around The Trunk, Pecking Holes In The Bark To Discover Some Little Worm Or Other.

Youth Comes But Once In A Lifetime.

The Swallow Is Come! The Swallow Is Come! O, Fair Are The Seasons, And Light Are The Days That She Brings, With Her Dusky Wings, And Her Bosom Snowy White!

And So We Plough Along, As The Fly Said To The Ox.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begin, Each Evening Sees It Close.