What visionary tints the year puts on, When falling leaves falter through motionless air Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone! How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare, As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills The bowl between me and those distant hills, And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremulous hair!

A sneer is the weapon of the weak.

That best academy, a mother's knee.

Nature, they say, doth dote, And cannot make a man Save on some worn-out plan, Repeating us by rote.

Who speaks the truth stabs falsehood to the heart.

Endurance is the crowning quality.

A wise man travels to discover himself.