Name and fame! to fly sublime Through the courts, the camps, the schools Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied in the hands of fools.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.

I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?

Through the ages one increasing purpose runs.

But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.

Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.