Modesty And Dew Love The

It Is The Qualities Of The Heart, Not Those Of The Face, That Should Attract Us In Women, Because The Former Are Durable, The Latter Transitory. So Lovable Women, Like Roses, Retain Their Sweetness Long After They Have Lost Their Beauty.

There Are Places And Climates, Seasons And Hours, With Their Outward Circumstance, So Much In Harmony With Certain Impressions Of The Heart, That Nature And The Soul Of Man Appear To Be Parts Of One Vast Whole.

Habit With It's Iron Sinews, Clasps Us And Leads Us Day By Day.

And When Night, Guiding Her Bright Train Of Stars, Throws O'er The Sleeping World Her Gloomy Veil, Lonely Amidst The Desert And The Darkness, Musing Upon The Night's Calm Majesty; Wrapt Up In Quietness, With Shade And Silence, My Soul More Closely Worshippeth Thy Presence; With An Internal Day I Feel Enlighten'd, And Hear A Voice, Which Biddeth Me To Hope.

Sentiment Is The Poetry Of The Imagination.