A woman's always younger than a man at equal years.

What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.

World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.

Love that endures, from life that disappears!

I, who had had my heart full for hours, took advantage of an early moment of solitude, to cry in it very bitterly. Suddenly a little hairy head thrust itself from behind my pillow into my face, rubbing its ears and nose against me in a responsive agitation, and drying the tears as they came.

And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair; And they heard the words it said,- "Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!"

The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.