The budding rose above the rose full blown.

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 eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.

The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.

He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.

Earth helped him with the cry of blood.

Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.