Beauty being the best of all we know sums up the unsearchable and secret aims of nature.
Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.
The south-wind strengthens to a gale, / Across the moon the clouds fly fast, / The house is smitten as with a flail, / The chimney shudders to the blast.
Our stability is but balance, and conduct lies In masterful administration of the unforseen.
The name of happiness is but a wider termfor the unalloy'd conditions of the Pleasur of Life,attendant on all function, and not to be deny'dto th' soul, unless forsooth in our thought of naturespiritual is by definition unnatural.
My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night.
Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
To-morrow it seemLike the empty words of a dreamRemembered on waking.
The hill pines were sighing, O'ercast and chill was the day; A mist in the valley lying Blotted the pleasant May.
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