Music Is The Language Spoken By Angels.

White Swan Of Cities Slumbering In Thy Nest . . . White Phantom City, Whose Untrodden Streets Are Rivers, And Whose Pavements Are The Shifting Shadows Of The Palaces And Strips Of Sky.

My Soul Is Full Of Longing For The Secret Of The Sea

And So We Plough Along, As The Fly Said To The Ox.

As To The Pure Mind All Things Are Pure, So To The Poetic Mind All Things Are Poetical.

Simplicity Is The Character Of The Spring Of Life, Costliness Becomes Its Autumn; But A Neatness And Purity, Like That Of The Snow-drop Or Lily Of The Valley, Is The Peculiar Fascination Of Beauty, To Which It Lends Enchantment, And Gives What Amiability Is To The Mind.