O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.

There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.

Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.

A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion; a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.

Not to understand a treasure's worth till time has stole away the slighted good, is cause of half the poverty we feel, and makes the world the wilderness it is.

God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.

...So let us welcome peaceful evening in.