O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!

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.

Tears are the showers that fertilize this world.

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.

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

It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.

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