To Win The Secret Of A Weed's

The Pine Is The Mother Of Legends.

A Weed Is No More Than A Flower In Disguise.

Suddenly All The Sky Is Hid As With The Shutting Of A Lid, One By One Great Drops Are Falling Doubtful And Slow, Down The Pane They Are Crookedly Crawling, And The Wind Breathes Low; Slowly The Circles Widen On The River, Widen And Mingle, One And All; Here And There The Slenderer Flowers Shiver, Struck By An Icy Rain-drop’s Fall.

Truth Is Quite Beyond The Reach Of Satire. There Is So Brave A Simplicity In Her That She Can No More Be Made Ridiculous Than An Oak Or A Pine.

Old Events Have Modern Meanings; Only That Survives Of Past History Which Finds Kindred In All Hearts And Lives.