Music Is Not Merely A Study, It

Adversity Is The Nurse Of Greatness Which Roughly Rocks Her Patients Back To Health.

And The Blue Gentian-flower, That, In The Breeze, Nods Lonely, Of Her Beauteous Race The Last.

When April Winds Grew Soft, The Maple Burst Into A Flush Of Scarlet Flowers. The Tulip Tree, High Up, Opened In Airs Of June Her Multitude Of Golden Chalices To Humming-birds And Silken-wing'd Insects Of The Sky.

Ye Winds Ye Unseen Currents Of The Air, Softly Ye Played A Few Brief Hours Ago; Ye Bore The Murmuring Bee; Ye Tossed The Air O'er Maiden Cheeks, That Took A Fresher Glow; Ye Rolled The Round White Cloud Through Depths Of Blue; Ye Shook From Shaded Flowers The Lingering Dew; Before You The Catalpa's Blossoms Flew, Light Blossoms, Dropping On The Grass Like Snow.

The Summer Morn Is Bright And Fresh, The Birds Are Darting By. As If They Loved To Breast The Breeze That Sweeps The Cool Clear Sky.