The Hushed Winds Their Sabbath Keep.

The Little Wind-flower, Whose Just Opened Eye Is Blue As The Spring Heaven It Gazes At.

Autumn, The Year's Last, Loveliest Smile.

The February Sunshine Steeps Your Boughs And Tints The Buds And Swells The Leaves Within.

Ye Winds Ye Unseen Currents Of The Air, Softly Ye Played A Few Brief Hours Ago; Ye Bore The Murmuring Bee; Ye Tossed The Air O'er Maiden Cheeks, That Took A Fresher Glow; Ye Rolled The Round White Cloud Through Depths Of Blue; Ye Shook From Shaded Flowers The Lingering Dew; Before You The Catalpa's Blossoms Flew, Light Blossoms, Dropping On The Grass Like Snow.

All Great Poets Have Been Men Of Great Knowledge.