I Felt It Shelter To Speak To

Opinion Is A Flitting Thing But Truth Outlasts The Sun.

Life Is So Rotatory That The Wilderness Falls To Each, Sometime.

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is, To Meet An Antique Book, In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege I Think.

How Softly Summer Shuts, Without The Creaking Of A Door.

Forever Is Composed Of Nows— 'tis Not A Different Time— Except For Infiniteness— And Latitude Of Home