I Have Perceived Much Beauty In The

The Old Happiness Is Unreturning. Boy's Griefs Are Not So Grievous As Youth's Yearning. Boys Have No Sadness Sadder Than Our Hope.

Children Are Not Meant To Be Studied, But Enjoyed. Only By Studying To Be Pleased Do We Understand Them.

Winter Song The Browns, The Olives, And The Yellows Died, And Were Swept Up To Heaven; Where They Glowed Each Dawn And Set Of Sun Till Christmastide, And When The Land Lay Pale For Them, Pale-snowed, Fell Back, And Down The Snow-drifts Flamed And Flowed. From Off Your Face, Into The Winds Of Winter, The Sun-brown And The Summer-gold Are Blowing; But They Shall Gleam With Spiritual Glinter, When Paler Beauty On Your Brows Falls Snowing, And Through Those Snows My Looks Shall Be Soft-going.

The English Say, Yours Truly, And Mean It. The Italians Say, I Kiss Your Feet, And Mean, I Kick Your Head.

Those Who, Like The Beasts, Have No Such Hope, Pass Their Old Age Shrouded With An Inward Gloom.