The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Love is the only gold.
Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
Courtesy wins woman all as well. As valor may, but he that closes both is perfect.