All green and fair the summer lies, Just budded from the bud of spring, With tender blue of wistful skies, And winds that softly sing.

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

Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover.

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

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

Few things are more aggravating than to be forgiven when one has done no wrong.

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