Eyes That Droop Like Summer Flowers.

Who Has Not Experienced, At Some Time Or Other, That Words Had All The Relief Of Tears?

Toil Is The Portion Of Day, As Sleep Is That Of Night; But If There Be One Hour Of The Twenty-four Which Has The Life Of Day Without Its Labor, And The Rest Of Night Without Its Slumber, It Is The Lovely And Languid Hour Of Twilight.

I Never Cast A Flower Away, A Gift Of One Who Car'd For Me; A Flower--a Faded Flower, But It Was Done Reluctantly.

All Profound Truths Startle You In The First Announcement.

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