The Wreck Of The Hesperus But The

The Twilight That Surrounds The Border-land Of Old Romance.

The Greatest Grace Of A Gift, Perhaps, Is That It Anticipates And Admits Of No Return.

By The Shore Of Gitche Gumee, By The Shining Big-sea-water, At The Doorway Of His Wigwam, In The Pleasant Summer Morning, Hiawatha Stood And Waited.

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

Ah, How Good It Feels! The Hand Of An Old Friend.