Oh The Long And Dreary Winter! Oh

Gone Are The Living, But The Dead Remain, And Not Neglected; For A Hand Unseen, Scattering Its Bounty Like A Summer Rain, Still Keeps Their Graves And Their Remembrance Green.

Be Thy Sleep Silent As Night Is, And As Deep.

There Is No Light In Earth Or Heaven But The Cold Light Of Stars; And The First Watch Of Night Is Given To The Red Planet Mars.

I Am More Afraid Of Deserving Criticism Than Of Receiving It. I Stand In Awe Of My Own Opinion. The Secret Demerits Of Which We Alone, Perhaps, Are Conscious, Are Often More Difficult To Bear Than Those Which Have Been Publicly Censured In Us, And Thus In Some Degree Atoned For.

A Handful Of Red Sand From The Hot Clime Of Arab Deserts Brought, Within This Glass Becomes The Spy Of Time, The Minister Of Thought.