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

If God made poets for anything, it was to keep alive the traditions of the pure, the holy, and the beautiful.

Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint.

There is nothing so desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates.

A ginooine statesman should be on his guard, if he must hev beliefs, not to b'lieve 'em too hard.

But life is sweet, though all that makes it sweet. Lessen like sound of friends departing feet; And death is beautiful as feet of friend. Coming with welcome at our journey's end.

Through aisles of long-drawn centuries my spirit walks in thought.