O never star Was lost; here We all aspire to heaven and there is heaven Above us. If I stoop Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud, It is but for a time; I press God's lamp Close to my breast; its splendor soon or late Will pierce the gloom. I shall emerge some day.

Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.

Needs there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?

All poetry is difficult to read - The sense of it anyhow.

He guides me and the bird. In His good time!

Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also.

You should not take a fellow eight years old and make him swear to never kiss the girls.