Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.

There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.

Rule by patience, Laughing Water!

The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.

There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death.

Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! The frontier town and citadel of night!

Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.