Change Is Certain. Peace Is Followed By

I Arise From Dreams Of Thee In The First Sweet Sleep Of Night, When The Winds Are Breathing Low, And The Stars Are Shining Bright.

A Pard-like Spirit, Beautiful And Swift.

Thou Shoreless Flood, Which In Thy Ebb And Flow Claspest The Limits Of Mortality.

The Most Refined Abstractions Of Logic Conduct To A View Of Life, Which, Though Startling To The Apprehension, Is, In Fact, That Which The Habitual Sense Of Its Repeated Combinations Has Extinguished In Us. It Strips, As It Were, The Painted Curtain From This Scene Of Things. I Confess That I Am One Of Those Who Are Unable To Refuse My Assent To The Conclusions Of Those Philosophers Who Assert That Nothing Exists But As It Is Perceived.

There Is A Harmony In Autumn, And A Luster In Its Sky...