Neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall ever prevail against us.

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.

A power is passing from the earth.

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

A brotherhood of venerable trees.