Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go.

For Mercy has a human heart Pity, a human face: And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress.

If others had not been foolish, we should be so.

He who sees the Infinite in all things sees God.

When nations grow old the Arts grow cold And commerce settles on every tree

God forbid that Truth should be confined to Mathematical Demonstration!

Mere enthusiasm is the all in all.