The Picture Waits For My Verdict; It

Sunshine Cannot Bleach The Snow, Nor Time Unmake What Poets Know

It Is Very Odd That Nature Should Be So Unscrupulous. She Is No Saint . . .

By Fate, Not Option, Frugal Nature Gave One Scent To Hyson And To Wall-flower, One Sound To Pine-groves And To Water-falls, One Aspect To The Desert And The Lake. It Was Her Stern Necessity : All Things Are Of One Pattern Made; Bird, Beast, And Flower, Song, Picture, Form, Space, Thought, And Character Deceive Us, Seeming To Be Many Things, And Are But One.

In Haydn's Oratorios, The Notes Present To The Imagination Not Only Motions, As, Of The Snake, The Stag, And The Elephant, But Colors Also; As The Green Grass.

Of All The Ways To Lose A Person, Death Is The Kindest