Remorse Is Virtue's Root; Its Fair Increase

Eloquence Is The Poetry Of Prose.

Tender Pauses Speak The Overflow Of Gladness, When Words Are All Too Weak.

But Winter Has Yet Brighter Scenes-he Boasts Splendors Beyond What Gorgeous Summer Knows; Or Autumn With His Many Fruits, And Woods All Flushed With Many Hues.

Beautiful Isles! Beneath The Sunset Skies Tall, Silver-shafted Palm-trees Rise, Between Full Orange-trees That Shade The Living Colonade.

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.