Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.

Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.

Is not thy home among the flowers?

Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.

Truth crushed to the earth will rise again!