Difficulty Is The Nurse Of Greatness.

Fairest Of All That Earth Beholds, The Hues That Live Among The Clouds, And Flush The Air, Lingering, And Deepening At The Hour Of Dews.

But 'neath Yon Crimson Tree Lover To Listening Maid Might Breathe His Flame, Nor Mark, Within Its Roseate Canopy, Her Blush Of Maiden Shame.

Alas! To Seize The Moment When The Heart Inclines To Heart, And Press A Suit With Passion, Is Not A Woman's Part. If Man Come Not To Gather The Roses Where They Stand, They Fade Among Their Foliage, They Cannot Seek His Hand.

And We Wept That One So Lovely Should Have A Life So Brief.

These Struggling Tides Of Life That Seem In Wayward, Aimless Course To Tend, Are Eddies Of The Mighty Stream That Rolls To Its Appointed End.