Talent Should Minister To Genius.

Oh, To Be In England Now That April's There, And Whoever Wakes In England Sees, Some Morning, Unaware.

Still More Labyrinthine Buds The Rose.

Praise Is Deeper Than The Lips

'tis Only When They Spring To Heaven That Angels Reveal Themselves To You.

But What If I Fail Of My Purpose Here? It Is But To Keep The Nerves At Strain, To Dry One's Eyes And Laugh At A Fall, And Baffled, Get Up And Begin Again.