The Wreck Of The Hesperus

History Casts Its Shadow Far Into The Land Of Song.

But The Nearer The Dawn The Darker The Night, And By Going Wrong All Things Come Right. Things Have Been Mended That Were Worse, And The The Worse, The Nearer They Are To Mend.

Now To Rivulets From The Mountains Point The Rods Of Fortune-tellers; Youth Perpetual Dwells In Fountains, Not In Flasks, And Casks, And Cellars.

The Rays Of Happiness, Like Those Of Light, Are Colorless When Unbroken.

He Spoke Well Who Said That Graves Are The Footprints Of Angels.