The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its best to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up and all the cottage warm.

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was of us, Burns, Shelley, were with us. They watch from their graves!

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?

For life, with all its yields of joy and woe Is just a chance o' the prize of learning love.

Ignorance is not innocence but sin.

Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.

Lose who may-I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!