A Mother Is A Mother Still, The

O Lady! We Receive But What We Give And In Our Life Alone Does Nature Live.

Day After Day, Day After Day, We Stuck, Nor Breath Nor Motion; As Idle As A Painted Ship Upon A Painted Ocean.

The Heart Should Have Fed Upon The Truth, As Insects On A Leaf, Till It Be Tinged With The Color, And Show Its Food In Every ... Minutest Fiber.

I Look'd To Heav'n, And Try'd To Pray; But Or Ever A Prayer Had Gusht, A Wicked Whisper Came And Made My Heart As Dry As Dust.

Words In Prose Ought To Express The Intended Meaning; If They Attract Attention To Themselves, It Is A Fault; In The Very Best Styles You Read Page After Page Without Noticing The Medium. Works Of Imagination Should Be Written In Very Plain Language; The More Purely Imaginative They Are, The More Necessary It Is To Be Plain.