Then followed that beautiful season... Summer.... Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.

Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn; We shudder for a moment, then awake In the broad sunshine of the other life.

The twilight that surrounds the border-land of old romance.

We have not wings we cannot soar; but, we have feet to scale and climb, by slow degrees, by more and more, the cloudy summits of our time.

A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.

In ourselves are triumph and defeat.

Youth comes but once a life time. Perhaps, but it remains strong in many for their entire lives.