Children bring their own love with them when they come.

I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.

Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.

How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.

The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow.

I am glad to think I am not bound to make the world go right, but only to discover and to do, with cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.

The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.