There Is One Art Of Which People

Indignation At Literary Wrongs I Leave To Men Born Under Happier Stars. I Cannot Afford It.

The One Red Leaf, The Last Of Its Clan, That Dances As Often As Dance It Can, Hanging So Light, And Hanging So High, On The Topmost Twig That Looks Up At The Sky.

Wherever You Find A Sentence Musically Worded, Of True Rhythm And Melody In The Words, There Is Something Deep And Good In The Meaning Too.

Blest Hour! It Was A Luxury--to Be!

An Instinctive Taste Teaches Men To Build Their Churches With Spire Steeples Which Point As With A Silent Finger To The Sky And Stars.