The Bright Incarnate Spirit Of The Morn.

Where Has Thou Been All The Dumb Winter Days When Neither Sunlight Was Nor Smile Of Flowers, Neither Life, Nor Love, Nor Frolic, Only Expanse Melancholic, With Never A Note Of Thy Exhilarating Lays?

If Nature Built By Rule And Square, Than Man What Wiser Would She Be? What Wins Us Is Her Careless Care, And Sweet Unpunctuality.

Have You Never, When Waves Were Breaking, Watched Children At Sport On The Beach, With Their Little Feet Tempting The Foam-fringe, Till With Stronger And Further Reach Than They Dreamed Of, A Billow Comes Bursting, How They Turn And Scamper And Screech!

The Glory Of Gardening: Hands In The Dirt, Head In The Sun, Heart With Nature. To Nurture A Garden Is To Feed Not Just On The Body, But The Soul.

In My Song You Catch At Times Note Sweeter Far Than Mine, And In The Tangle Of My Rhymes Can Scent The Eglantine.