It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician...
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
The victory of endurance born.
When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multiple OF golden chalices to humming birds And silken-wing’d insects of the sky.
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
Autumn, the year’s last, loveliest smile.
Still sweet with blossoms is the year’s fresh prime.
Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
Features, the great soul’s apparent seat.
Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -.
Remorse is virtue’s root; its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven’s own blue...
The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows...
The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.