O that one unguarded moment! / Were it mine to live again, / All the strength of its temptation / Would appeal to me in vain.

I know not which I love the most, Nor which the comeliest shows, The timid, bashful violet Or the royal-hearted rose: The pansy in purple dress, The pink with cheek of red, Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs, Like a bashful maid her head.

Women are only told that they resemble angels when they are young and beautiful; consequently, it is their persons, not their virtues, that procure them homage.

And never since harvests were ripened, / Or laborers born, / Have men gathered figs of the thistle, / Or grapes of the thorn!

Death comes not to the living soul, nor age to the living heart.

But whenever she thanks the givers for favors great and small, she thinks of the good little sister who gave her more than they all.

One sweetly solemn thought, comes to me o'er and o'er; I am nearer home today, than I ever have been before.