I Go Into My Library And All

Happiness Never Lays Its Finger On Its Pulse. If We Attempt To Steal A Glimpse Of Its Features It Disappears.

Every Man's Road In Life Is Marked By The Grave Of His Personal Likings.

I Go Into My Library, And All History Unrolls Before Me. I Breathe The Morning Air Of The World While The Scent Of Eden's Roses Yet Lingered In It, While It Vibrated Only To The World's First Brood Of Nightingales, And To The Laugh Of Eve. I See The Pyramids Building; I Hear The Shoutings Of The Armies Of Alexander.

The Sea Complains Upon A Thousand Shores.

My Garden, With Its Silence And Pulses Of Fragrance That Come And Go On The Airy Undulations, Affects Me Like Sweet Music. Care Stops At The Gates, And Gazes At Me Wistfully Through The Bars.