The Sea Appears All Golden. Beneath The

No Author Is A Man Of Genius To His Publisher.

Sweet May Lies Fresh Before Us, To Life The Young Flowers Leap, And Through The Heaven's Blue O'er Us The Rosy Cloudlets Sweep.

The Sea Appears All Golden. Beneath The Sun-lit Sky.

He Only Profits From Praise Who Values Criticism.

If One Has No Heart, One Cannot Write For The Masses.