The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.

I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.

Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbeloving; Unless you can die when the dream is past- Oh, never call it loving!

Oh the wild joys of living! The leaping from rock to rock ... the cool silver shock of the plunge in a pool's living waters.

To me at least was never evening yet, but seemed far beautifuller than its day.

Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.

Into the street the piper stepped, Smiling first a little smile As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while. And the piper advanced And the children followed.