And These Are Joys, Like Beauty, But

The Strongest Passion Which I Have Is Honor.

Blest Is He Whose Heart Is The Home Of The Great Dead And Their Great Thoughts.

The Death-bed Of A Day, How Beautiful!

Who Can Mistake Great Thoughts? They Seize Upon The Mind; Arrest And Search, And Shake It; Bow The Tall Soul As By Wind; Rush Over It Like A River Reeds.

I Am Tired Of Looking On What Is, One Might As Well See Beauty Never More, As Look Upon It With An Empty Eye. I Would This World Were Over. I Am Tired.