Poetry is the eloquence of verse.

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

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.

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.

Can anything be imagined more abhorrent to every sentiment of generosity and justice, than the law which arms the rich with the legal right to fix, by assize, the wages of the poor? If this is not slavery, we have forgotten its definition. Strike the right of associating for the sale of labor from the privileges of a freeman, and you may as well bind him to a master, or ascribe him to the soil.

The groves were God's first temples.

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.