Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best.

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

Rule by patience, Laughing Water!

It was a high counsel that I once heard given to a young person, - always do what you are afraid to do.

Into a world unknown,-the corner-stone of a nation!

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Every great poem is in itself limited by necessity, but in its suggestions unlimited and infinite.