If God Made Poets For

The Quiet Tenderness Of Chaucer, Where You Almost Seem To Hear The Hot Tears Falling, And The Simple Choking Words Sobbed Out.

A Friendship Counting Nearly Forty Years Is The Finest Kind Of Shade-tree I Know.

Joy Comes, Grief Goes, We Know Not How.

Silence Is Sorrow's Best Food.

Whoever Can Endure Unmixed Delight, Whoever Can Tolerate Music And Painting And Poetry All In One, Whoever Wishes To Be Rid Of Thought And To Let The Busy Anvils Of The Brain Be Silent For A Time, Let Him Read In The "faery Queen."