For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. . . .

Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.

I have known more men destroyed by the desire to have wife and child and to keep them in comfort than I have seen destroyed by drink and harlots.

I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping...I hear it in the deep heart's core.

An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing for every tatter in its mortal dress.