O That It Might Remain Eternally Green,

It Is Not The Mere Station Of Life That Stamps The Value On Us, But The Manner In Which We Act Our Part.

Egotism Erects Its Center In Itself; Love Places It Out Of Itself In The Axis Of The Universal Whole. Love Aims At Unity, Egotism At Solitude. Love Is The Citizen Ruler Of A Flourishing Republic, Egotism Is A Despot In A Devastated Creation. Egotism Sows For Gratitude, Love For The Ungrateful. Love Gives, Egotism Lends; And Love Does This Before The Throne Of Judicial Truth, Indifferent If For The Enjoyment Of The Following Moment, Or With The View To A Martyr's Crown--indifferent Whether The Reward Is In This Life Or In The Next.

Sentimental Poetry Differs From Naive Poetry In That It Relates The Real State At Which The Latter Stops To Ideas And Applies Ideas To That Reality.

You Worthy Critics, Or Whatever You May Call Yourselves, Are Ashamed Or Afraid Of The Momentary And Passing Madness Which Is Found In All Real Creators, The Longer Or Shorter Duration Of Which Distinguishes The Thinking Artist From The Dreamer. Hence Your Complaints Of Unfruitfulness, For You Reject Too Soon And Discriminate Too Severely.

No Greater Grief Than To Remember Days Of Gladness When Sorrow Is At Hand.