Difficulty Is The Nurse Of Greatness.

Ere, In The Northern Gale, The Summer Tresses Of The Trees Are Gone, The Woods Of Autumn, All Around Our Vale, Have Put Their Glory On.

The Air Was Fragrant With A Thousand Trodden Aromatic Herbs, With Fields Of Lavender, And With The Brightest Roses Blushing In Tufts All Over The Meadows.

Thou Blossom Bright With Autumn Dew, And Colored With The Heaven's Own Blue.

I Hear The Howl Of The Wind That Brings The Long Drear Storm On Its Heavy Wings.

Oh, River! Darkling River! What A Voice Is That Thou Utterest While All Else Is Still-- The Ancient Voice That, Centuries Ago, Sounded Between Thy Hills, While Rome Was Yet A Weedy Solitude By Tiber's Stream!