The groves were God's first temples.

Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.

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.

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.

Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.

Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear