Nothing is more completely the child of art than a garden.

He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit.

Mankind — the race would perish did they cease to aid each other.

What skilful limner e'er would choose To paint the rainbow's varying hues, Unless to mortal it were given To dip his brush in dyes of heaven?

Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.

He turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore, He gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, my love, And adieu for evermore."

No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe.