There is nothing so skillful in its own defense as imperious pride.

For April sobs while these are so glad April weeps while these are so gay,- Weeps like a tired child who had, Playing with flowers, lost its way.

Who longest waits most surely wins.

Great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.

O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self.