Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover.

True love is not selfish. In time it accustoms itself to anything which secures happiness for its object.

Dry leaves upon the wall, Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, A single frosted cluster on the grape Still hangs--and that is all.

Softly drops the crimson sun: Softly down from overhead, Drop the bell-notes, one by one, Melting in the melting red.

The sobbing wind is fierce and strong; its cry is like a human wail.

As we meet and touch, each day, The many travelers on our way, Let every such brief contact be A glorious, helpful minister.

Every day is a fresh beginning. Every morn is the world made anew.