How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.

What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.

Outside are the storms and strangers: we — Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, — I and she!

I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.

Believeth with the life, the pain shall stop.

Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds?