Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.

We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.

I've watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

Books are the best type of the influence of the past.

Small service is true service, while it lasts.