I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.

Science grows and Beauty dwindles.

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

We are all a part of every person we have ever met.

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

Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.

Tho' much is taken, much abides.