I Never Cast A Flower Away, A

Sneering Springs Out Of The Wish To Deny; And Wretched Must That State Of Mind Be That Wishes To Take Refuge In Doubt.

In Sad Truth, Half Our Forebodings Of Our Neighbors Are But Our Own Wishes, Which We Are Ashamed To Utter In Any Other Form.

There Are Words To Paint The Misery Of Love, But None To Paint Its Happiness.

The Wind Has A Language, I Would I Could Learn! Sometimes 'tis Soothing, And Sometimes 'tis Stern, Sometimes It Comes Like A Low Sweet Song, And All Things Grow Calm, As The Sound Floats Along, And The Forest Is Lull'd By The Dreamy Strain, And Slumber Sinks Down On The Wandering Main, And Its Crystal Arms Are Folded In Rest, And The Tall Ship Sleeps On Its Heaving Breast.

Suicide And Antipathy To Fires In A Bedroom Seem To Be Among The National Characteristics. Perhaps The Same Moral Cause May Originate Both.