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.
It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.
People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.
It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.
The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.
And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.