Still More Labyrinthine Buds The Rose.

The Best Way To Excape His Ire Is, Not To Seem Too Happy.

All Good Things Are Ours, Nor Soul Helps Flesh More, Now, Than Flesh Helps Soul!

Truth Is Truth Howe'er It Strike.

And Inasmuch As Feeling, The East's Gift, Is Quick And Transient,- Comes, And Lo! Is Gone, While Northern Thought Is Slow And Durable.

The Sea Heaves Up, Hangs Loaded O'er The Land, Breaks There, And Buries Its Tumultuous Strength.