Earth knows no desolation. She smells regeneration in the moist breath of decay.

I know him, February's thrush, And loud at eve he valentines On sprays that paw the naked bush Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.

Possession without obligation to the object possessed approaches felicity.

I expect Woman will be the last thing civilized by Man.

Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we paid for it full worth: We have it only when we are half earth. Little avails that coinage to the old!

Earth knows no desolation. She smells regeneration in the moist breath of decay.

God's rarest blessing is, after all, a good woman!