One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light

The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

One of those heavenly days that cannot die.