The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.

The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.

Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.

The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.

Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.