Look, Then, Into Thine Heart, And Write!

An Angel Visited The Green Earth, And Took A Flower Away.

No Man Is So Poor As To Have Nothing Worth Giving.

Thus Thought I, As By Night I Read Of The Great Army Of The Dead, The Trenches Cold And Damp, The Starved And Frozen Camp,-- The Wounded From The Battle-plain, In Dreary Hospitals Of Pain, The Cheerless Corridors, The Cold And Stony Floors. Lo! In That House Of Misery A Lady With A Lamp I See Pass Through The Glimmering Gloom And Flit From Room To Room. And Slow, As In A Dream Of Bliss, The Speechless Sufferer Turns To Kiss Her Shadow, As It Falls Upon The Darkening Walls.

A Boy's Will Is The Wind's Will, And The Thought's Of Youth Are Long, Long Thoughhts

Tell Me Not, In Mournful Numbers, Life Is But An Empty Dream!