Bee To The Blossom, Moth To The

If I Could Write A Story That Would Do For The Indian One-hundredth Part What 'uncle Tom's Cabin' Did For The Negro, I Would Be Thankful The Rest Of My Life.

O Sweet, Delusive Noon, Which The Morning Climbs To Find, O Moment Sped Too Soon, And Morning Left Behind.

Bee To The Blossom, Moth To The Flame; Each To His Passion; What's In A Name?

Next Time!' In What Calendar Are Kept The Records Of Those Next Times Which Never Come?

The Voice Of One Who Goes Before, To Makethe Paths Of June More Beautiful, Is Thinesweet May!