The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if newborn; There was nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet.

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.

Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul.

The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.

Simplicity in character, in manners, in style; in all things the supreme excellence is simplicity.

Talk not of wasted affection - affection never was wasted.