The Wind Breathes Not, And The Wave

Lowliness Is The Base Of Every Virtue, And He Who Goes The Lowest Builds The Safest.

It Is Sad To See The Light Of Beauty Wane Away, Know Eyes Are Dimming, Bosoms Shrivelling, Feet Losing Their Springs, And Limbs Their Lily Roundness; But It Is Worse To Feel The Heart-spring Gone, To Lose Hope, Care Not For The Coming Thing, And Feel All Things Go To Decay Within Us.

Words Are The Motes Of Thought, And Nothing More.

The Death-bed Of A Day, How Beautiful!

Remember That Thy Heart Will Shed Its Pleasures As Thine Eye Its Tears, And Both Leave Loathsome Furrows.