“Wrapped in his sad-colored cloak, the Day, like a Puritan, standeth Stern in the joyless fields, rebuking the lingering color,– Dying hectic of leaves and the chilly blue of the asters,– Hearing, perchance, the croak of a crow on the desolate tree-top.”

As I toiled up the Mount of Olives, in the very footsteps of Christ, panting with the heat and the difficult ascent, I found it utterly impossible to conceive that the Deity, in human form, had walked there before me.

There may come a day Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth, And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!

An enthusiastic desire of visiting the Old World haunted me from early childhood. I cherished a presentiment, amounting almost to belief, that I should one day behold the scenes, among which my fancy had so long wandered.

The most annoying of all blockheads is a well-read fool.

By wisdom wealth is won; but riches purchased wisdom yet for none.

But still I dream that somewhere there must be The spirit of a child that waits for me.

In the glory which overhangs Palestine afar off, we imagine emotions which never come, when we tread the soil and walk over the hallowed sites.

I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.

The knowledge of my sin Is half-repentance.

The clouds are scudding across the moon, A misty light is on the sea; The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, And the foam is flying free.

Sometimes an hour of Fate’s serenest weather Strikes through our changeful sky its coming beams; Somewhere above us, in elusive ether, Waits the fulfilment of our dearest dreams.

Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.

The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.

Love is better than Fame.

Sweeter than the stolen kiss Are the granted kisses

From the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire.