From Helicon's Harmonious Springs A

The Insect-youth Are On The Wing, Eager To Taste The Honied Spring, And Float Amid The Liquid Noon!

Any Fool May Write A Most Valuable Book By Chance, If He Will Only Tell Us What He Heard And Saw With Veracity.

Youth Smiles Without Any Reason. It Is One Of Its Chiefest Charms.

The Language Of The Age Is Never The Language Of Poetry, Except Among The French, Whose Verse, Where The Thought Or Image Does Not Support It, Differs In Nothing From Prose.

The Still Small Voice Of Gratitude.