There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary.

Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.

Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willing.

As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, all my dreams, come back to me.

Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and silence.

The soul never grows old.

Give what you have. To some one, it may be better than you dare to think.