Maidens Hearts Are Always Soft: Would That

Glorious Are The Woods In Their Latest Gold And Crimson, Yet Our Full-leaved Willows Are In The Freshest Green. Such A Kindly Autumn, So Mercifully Dealing With The Growths Of Summer, I Never Yet Have Seen.

Ah, Passing Few Are They Who Speak, Wild, Stormy Month! In Praise Of Thee; Yet Though Thy Winds Are Loud And Bleak, Thou Art A Welcome Month To Me. For Thou, To Northern Lands, Again The Glad And Glorious Sun Dost Bring, And Thou Hast Joined The Gentle Train And Wear'st The Gentle Name Of Spring.

Thine Eyes Are Springs In Whose Serene And Silent Waters Heaven Is Seen. Their Lashes Are The Herbs That Look On Their Young Figures In The Brook.

But Winter Has Yet Brighter Scenes-he Boasts Splendors Beyond What Gorgeous Summer Knows; Or Autumn With His Many Fruits, And Woods All Flushed With Many Hues.

Difficulty, My Brethren, Is The Nurse Of Greatness - A Harsh Nurse, Who Roughly Rocks Her Foster Children Into Strength And Athletic Proportion.