Come watch with me the shaft of fire that glows in yonder West; the fair, frail palaces, The fading Alps and archipelagoes and great cloud continents of sunset-seas.

Civilization is the lamb's skin in which barbarism masquerades.

The man who suspects his own tediousness is yet to be born.

O Liberty...! is it well To leave the gates unguarded?

October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers: Soon these will slip from the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.

Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant

Books that have become classics - books that have had their day and now get more praise than perusal - always remind me of retired colonels and majors and captains who, having reached the age limit, find themselves retired on half pay.