I Started Early, Took My

Here Is A Little Forest Whose Leaf Is Ever Green; Here Is A Brighter Garden, Where Not A Frost Has Been; In Its Unfading Flowers I Hear The Bright Bee Hum; Prithee, My Brother, Into My Garden Come!

Endow The Living - With The Tears - You Squander On The Dead.

To Live Is So Startling It Leaves Little Time For Anything Else.

I Do Not Like The Man Who Squanders Life For Fame; Give Me The Man Who Living Makes A Name.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society.