Modesty And Dew Love The Shade.

Let Us Enjoy The Fugitive Hour. Man Has No Harbor, Time Has No Shore; It Rushes On, And Carries Us With It.

At Twenty Every One Is Republican.

We Are Earth's Children, And Life Is The Same In Sap As In Blood; All That The Earth, Our Mother, Feels And Expresses To The Eye By Her Form And Aspect, In Melancholy Or In Splendor, Finds An Echo Within Us.

Void Of Freedom, What Would Virtue Be?

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