Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.

I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I'd see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.

Beauty being the best of all we know sums up the unsearchable and secret aims of nature.

Science comforting man's animal poverty and leisuring his toil, hath humanized manners and social temper, and now above her globe-spredd net of speeded intercourse hath outrun all magic, and disclosing the secrecy of the reticent air hath woven a web of invisible strands spiriting the dumb inane with the quick matter of life.

Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow.

When Death to either shall come - I pray it be first to me.

Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.