Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.

The victory of endurance born.

Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

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

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.