To be young was very heaven!

May books and nature be their early joy!

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.

Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?

The Eagle, he was lord above