One Should Go To The

The Substance Of The Winds Is Too Thin For Human Eyes, Their Written Language Is Too Difficult For Human Minds, And Their Spoken Language Mostly Too Faint For The Ears.

Another Glorious Day, The Air As Delicious To The Lungs As Nectar To The Tongue.

The Mountains Are Fountains Not Only Of Rivers And Fertile Soil, But Of Men.

Nature In Her Green, Tranquil Woods Heals And Soothes All Afflictions.

Few In These Hot, Dim, Strenuous Times Are Quite Sane Or Free; Choked With Care Like Clocks Full Of Dust, Laboriously Doing So Much Good And Making So Much Money - Or So Little, They Are No Longer Good For Themselves.