Light Is, Perhaps, The Most Wonderful Of

We Are Slumberous Poppies, Lords Of Lethe Downs, Some Awake And Some Asleep, Sleeping In Our Crowns. What Perchance Our Dreams May Know, Let Our Serious May Know.

There Is Scarcely A Single Joy Or Sorrow Within The Experience Of Our Fellow-creatures Which We Have Not Tasted; Yet The Belief, In The Good And Beautiful Has Never Forsaken Us. It Has Been Medicine To Us In Sickness, Richness In Poverty, And The Best Part Of All That Ever Delighted Us In Health And Success.

Hair Is The Most Delicate And Lasting Of Our Materials, And Survives Us, Like Love. It Is So Light, So Gentle; So Escaping From The Idea Of Death, That, With A Lock Of Hair Belonging To A Child Or Friend, We May Almost Look Up To Heaven And Compare Notes With The Angelic Nature,--may Almost Say, "i Have A Piece Of Thee Here Not Unworthy Of Thy Being Now.

Wit Is The Clash And Reconcilement Of Incongruities; The Meeting Of Extremes Round A Corner.

For The Most Part, We Should Pray Rather In Aspiration Than Petition, Rather By Hoping Than Requesting; In Which Spirit Also We May Breathe A Devout Wish For A Blessing On Others Upon Occasions When It Might Be Presumptuous To Beg It.