The Dream On The Pillow, That Flits

To This Hour, The Great Science And Duty Of Politics Is Lowered By The Petty Leaven Of Small And Personal Advantage.

To The Many, Witticisms Not Only Require To Be Explained, Like Riddles, But Are Also Like New Shoes, Which People Require To Wear Many Times Before They Get Accustomed To Them.

How Beautiful, Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning! The First Sunshine On The Leaves: The First Wind, Laden With The First Breath Of The Flowers—that Deep Sigh With Which They Seem To Waken From Sleep; The First Dew, Untouched Even By The Light Foot Of The Early Hare; The First Chirping Of The Rousing Birds, As If Eager To Begin Song And Flight; All Is Redolent Of The Strength Given By Rest, And The Joy Of Conscious Life.

No Hour Arrives So Soon As The One We Dread.

My Tears Are Buried In My Heart, Like Cave-locked Fountains Sleeping.