If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?

There's no glory like those who save their country.

On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.

Battering the gates of heaven with the storms of prayer.

The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; The leaf is dead, the yearning past away; New leaf, new life--the days of frost are o'er; New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love--free field--we love but while we may.

So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not

Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.