Tears Are Summer Showers To The Soul.

Falling Stars Are High Examples Sent To Warn, Not Lure. Gross Fancy Says They Are Substantial Meteors; But That Is Not So. They Are The Merest Phantasies Of Night, When She's Asleep, And, Dimly Visited By Past Effects, She Dreams Of Lucifer Hurled Out Of Heaven.

He Is Dead Already Who Doth Not Feel Life Is Worth Living Still.

Never Did Form More Fairy Thread The Dance Than She Who Scours The Hills To Find It Flowers; Never Did Sweeter Lips Chained Ears Entrance Than Hers That Move, True To Its Striking Hours; No Hands So White E'er Decked The Warrior's Lance, As Those Which Tend Its Lamp As Darkness Lours; And Never Since Dear Christ Expired For Man, Had Holy Shrine So Fair A Sacristan.

In My Song You Catch At Times Note Sweeter Far Than Mine, And In The Tangle Of My Rhymes Can Scent The Eglantine.

Exclusiveness In A Garden Is A Mistake As Great As It Is In Society.