Our Treasures Trifles Seem, And All Our

Even In Dreams Doing Good Is Not Wasted.

The Heart Is An Astrologer That Always Divines The Truth.

Tis Not Where We Lie But Whence We Fell; The Loss Of Heaven's The Greatest Pain In Hell.

Light-enchanted Sunflower, Thou Who Gazest Ever True And Tender On The Sun's Revolving Splendour.

Dreams Are Rough Copies Of The Waking Soul Yet Uncorrected Of The Higher Will, So That Men Sometimes In Their Dreams Confess An Unsuspected, Or Forgotten, Self; -since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, Are Akin In Missing Each That Salutory Rein Of Reason, And The Grinding Will Of Man.