Eloquence Is The Poetry Of Prose.

Autumn, The Year's Last, Loveliest Smile.

I Shall Seethe Hour Of Death Draw Near To Me,hope, Blossoming Within My Heart. . . .

Where Are The Flowers, The Fair Young Flowers, That Lately Sprang And Stood In Brighter Light And Softer Airs, A Beauteous Sisterhood?

Old Ocean's Gray And Melancholy Waste.

Truth Crushed To The Earth Will Rise Again!