Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.
Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
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.
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.
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.