My Friends Plunged Into A Borderless Sea

A Harbor, Even If It Is A Little Harbor, Is A Good Thing, Since Adventurers Come Into It As Well As Go Out, And The Life In It Grows Strong, Because It Takes Something From The World, And Has Something To Give In Return.

Some Set More By Such Things As Come From A Distance, But I Rec'lect Mother Always Used To Maintain That Folks Was Meant To Be Doctored With The Stuff That Grew Right About 'em.

This Was One Of Those Perfect New England Days In Late Summer Where The Spirit Of Autumn Takes A First Stealing Flight, Like A Spy, Through The Ripening Country-side, And, With Feigned Sympathy For Those Who Droop With August Heat, Puts Her Cool Cloak Of Bracing Air About Leaf And Flower And Human Shoulders.

I've Got 's Much Feelin' As The Next One, But When Folks Drives In Their Spiggits And Wants To Draw A Bucketful O' Compassion Every Day Right Straight Along, There Does Come Times When It Seems As If The Bar'l Was Getting Low.

In The Life Of Each Of Us, I Said To Myself, There Is A Place Remote And Islanded, And Given To Endless Regret Or Secret Happiness; We Are Each The Uncompanioned Hermit And Recluse Of An Hour Or A Day; We Understand Our Fellows Of The Cell To Whatever Age Of History They May Belong.