Suddenly all the sky is hid As with the shutting of a lid, One by one great drops are falling Doubtful and slow, Down the pane they are crookedly crawling, And the wind breathes low; Slowly the circles widen on the river, Widen and mingle, one and all; Here and there the slenderer flowers shiver, Struck by an icy rain-drop’s fall.

Two meanings have our lightest fantasies,- One of the flesh, and of the spirit one.

Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.

Here was a type of the true elder race, And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face.

It is the privilege of genius that life never grows common place, as it does for the rest of us.

Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime.

Men have their intellectual ancestry, and the likeness of some one of them is forever unexpectedly flashing out in the features of a descendant, it may be after a gap of several centuries. In the parliament of the present every man represents a constituency of the past.