Today Is The Blocks With Which We

It Is A Beautiful Trait In The Lover's Character, That They Think No Evil Of The Object Loved.

Truths That Startled The Generation In Which They Were First Announced Become In The Next Age The Commonplaces Of Conversation; As The Famous Airs Of Operas Which Thrilled The First Audiences Come To Be Played On Hand-organs In The Streets.

A Feeling Of Sadness And Longing, That Is Not Akin To Pain, And Resembles Sorrow Only As The Mist Resembles The Rain.

I See, But Cannot Reach, The Height That Lies Forever In The Light.

The Emigrant's Way O'er The Western Desert Is Mark'd By Camp-fires Long Consum'd And Bones That Bleach In The Sunshine.