Is Not Thy Home Among The Flowers?

Thou Who Wouldst See The Lovely And The Wild Mingled In Harmony On Nature's Face, Ascend Our Rocky Mountains. Let Thy Foot Fail Not With Weariness, For On Their Tops The Beauty And The Majesty Of Earth, Spread Wide Beneath, Shall Make Thee To Forget The Steep And Toilsome Way.

All Great Poets Have Been Men Of Great Knowledge.

Lo! While We Are Gazing, In Swifter Haste Stream Down The Snows, Till The Air Is White, As, Myriads By Myriads Madly Chased, They Fling Themselves From Their Shadowy Height. The Fair, Frail Creatures Of Middle Sky, What Speed They Make, With Their Grave So Nigh; Flake After Flake, To Lie In The Dark And Silent Lake!

Heed Not The Night; A Summer Lodge Amid The Wild Is Mine, 'tis Shadowed By The Tulip-tree, 'tis Mantled By The Vine.

Do Not The Bright June Roses Blow To Meet Thy Kiss At Morning Hours?