A Boy's Will Is The

'twas Easter-sunday. The Full-blossomed Trees Filled All The Air With Fragrance And With Joy.

Where Should The Scholar Live? In Solitude, Or In Society? In The Green Stillness Of The Country, Where He Can Hear The Heart Of Nature Beat, Or In The Dark, Gray Town Where He Can Hear And Feel The Throbbing Heart Of Man?

The Talent Of Success Is Nothing More Than Doing What You Can Do, Well.

Sweet As The Tender Fragrance That Survives, When Martyred Flowers Breathe Out Their Little Lives, Sweet As A Song That Once Consoled Our Pain, But Never Will Be Sung To Us Again, Is They Remembrance. Now The Hour Of Rest Hath Come To Thee. Sleep, Darling: It Is Best.

Very Hot And Still The Air Was, Very Smooth The Gliding River, Motionless The Sleeping Shadows.