Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are.

I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument.

So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest.

The men that women marry, And why they marry them, will always be A marvel and a mystery to the world.

Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.

In ourselves are triumph and defeat.

Oh, how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded, day, descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long mild twilight, which, like a silver clasp, unites today with yesterday!