Hush! Still as death, The tempest holds his breath As from a sudden will; The rain stops short, but from the eaves You see it drop, and hear it from the leaves, All is so bodingly still.

In vain we call old notions fudge, And bend our conscience to our dealing; The Ten Commandments will not budge, And stealing will continue stealing.

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree was ridged inch deep with pearl.

Like streams that keep a summer mind Snow-hid in Jenooary.

The nurse of full-grown souls is solitude.

Every person born into this world their work is born with them.

Taste is the next gift to genius.