There is no holier spot of ground than where defeated valor lies by mourning beauty crowned

Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court with green festoons The banks of dark lagoons.

There is no holier spot of ground than where defeated valor lies by mourning beauty crowned

Each has its lesson; for our dreams in sooth, come they in shape of demons, gods, or elves, are allegories with deep hearts of truth that tell us solemn secrets of ourselves.

Ah me! why may not love and life be one?

Spring is a true reconstructionist.