The Greatest Homage We Can Pay To

Talent Is That Which Is In A Man's Power; Genius Is That In Whose Power A Man Is.

Fools, When Their Roof-tree Falls, Think It Doomsday.

Many Make The Household But Only One The Home.

The Child Is Not Mine As The First Was, I Cannot Sing It To Rest, I Cannot Lift It Up Fatherly And Bliss It Upon My Breast; Yet It Lies In My Little One's Cradle And Sits In My Little One's Chair, And The Light Of The Heaven She's Gone To Transfigures Its Golden Hair.

The Nunneries Of Silent Nooks, The Murmured Longing Of The Wood.