The Past Is Perpetual Youth To The

Doubts, Like Facts, Are Stubborn Things.

How Beautiful, How Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning!

It Is Strange What Society Will Endure From Its Idols.

Ah, Tell Me Not That Memory Sheds Gladness O'er The Past; What Is Recalled By Faded Flowers, Save That They Did Not Last? Were It Not Better To Forget, Than But Remember And Regret?

Do Anything But Love; Or If Thou Lovest And Art A Woman, Hide Thy Love From Him Whom Thou Dost Worship; Never Let Him Know How Dear He Is; Flit Like A Bird Before Him; Lead Him From Tree To Tree, From Flower To Flower; But Be Not Won, Or Thou Wilt, Like That Bird, When Caught And Caged, Be Left To Pine Neglected And Perish In Forgetfulness.