The clouds that gather round the setting sun do take a sober colouring from an eye that hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, to me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.

The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow

Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.

A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.

Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?