Let Us Enjoy The Fugitive Hour. Man

Sad Is His Lot, Who, Once At Least In His Life, Has Not Been A Poet.

Yet, In These Autumn Days When Nature Expires, Here, In These Veiled Scenes, I Find More Attractions; It Is A Friend's Sad Goodbye; It Is The Last Smile From Lips That Death Is Going To Close Forever!

Man, Man, Is Thy Brother, And Thy Father Is God.

Treason, Which Begins By Being Cautious, Ends By Betraying Itself.

Thou Makest The Man, O Sorrow!--yes, The Whole Man,--as The Crucible Gold.