Within thy Grave! Oh no, but on some other flight - Thou only camest to mankind To rend it with Good night

We turn not older with years but newer every day.

The dearest ones of time, the strongest friends of the soul--BOOKS.

He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow by fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow Your breath has time to straighten Your brain to bubble cool,- Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul.

Until you have loved, you cannot become yourself.

The older I grow the more do I love spring and spring flowers. Is it so with you?

Longing, it may be, is the gift no other gift supplies.