The Bride Hath Paced Into The Hall,

The Moving Moon Went Up The Sky, And Nowhere Did Abide: Softly She Was Going Up, And A Star Or Two Beside.

Humor Is Consistent With Pathos, Whilst Wit Is Not.

The Water-lily, In The Midst Of Waters, Opens Its Leaves And Expands Its Petals, At The First Pattering Of The Shower, And Rejoices In The Rain-drops With A Quicker Sympathy Than The Packed Shrubs In The Sandy Desert.

Alas! They Had Been Friends In Youth; But Whispering Tongues Can Poison Truth.

Ignorance Seldom Vaults Into Knowledge, But Passes Into It Through An Intermediate State Of Obscurity, Even As Night Into Day Through Twilight.