Nothing Is More Beautiful Than Cheerfulness In

A Sky Full Of Silent Suns.

A Loving Maiden Grows Unconsciously More Bold.

He Thought Of The Mouldering Child, Which Laid Its Withered Thin Arms Around His Soul, As If It Were His Own, And To Whom Death Had Given As Much As A God Gave To Endymion, — Sleep, Eternal Youth, And Immortality.

Because The Heart Beats Under A Covering Of Hair, Of Fur, Feathers, Or Wings, It Is, For That Reason, To Be Of No Account?

What A Father Says To His Children Is Not Heard By The World, But It Will Be Heard By Posterity.