Tis a morning pure and sweet, And a dewy splendour falls On the little flower that clings To the turrets and the walls; 'Tis a morning pure and sweet, And the light and shadow fleet; She is walking in the meadow, And the woodland echo rings; In a moment we shall meet; She is singing in the meadow, And the rivulet at her feet Ripples on in light and shadow To the ballad that she sings.

Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.

The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.

Woman is the lesser man.

Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.