The Ghosts Of Things That

The Little Things Of Life, Sweet And Excellent In Their Place, Must Not Be The Things Lived For; The Highest Must Be Sought And Followed; The Life Of Heaven Must Be Begun Here On Earth.

...a Little "appreciation" Sometimes Does Quite As Much Good As All The Conscientious "bringing Up" In The World.

It Was November--the Month Of Crimson Sunsets, Parting Birds, Deep, Sad Hymns Of The Sea, Passionate Wind-songs In The Pines. Anne Roamed Through The Pineland Alleys In The Park And, As She Said, Let That Great Sweeping Wind Blow The Fogs Out Of Her Soul.

I Wish I Were Dead, Or That It Were Tomorrow Night,' Groaned Phil.

…the Lake Of Shining Waters Was Blue — Blue — Blue; Not The Changeful Blue Of Spring, Nor The Pale Azure Of Summer, But A Clear, Steadfast, Serene Blue, As If The Water Were Past All Modes And Tenses Of Emotion And Had Settled Down To A Tranquillity Unbroken By Fickle Dreams.