O Harp Of Life, So

Though I Be Shut In Darkness, And Become Insentient Dust Blown Idly Here And There, I Count Oblivion A Scant Price To Pay For Having Once Had Held Against My Lip Life's Brimming Cup Of Hydromel And Rue--for Having Once Known Woman's Holy Love And A Child's Kiss, And For A Little Space Been Boon Companion To The Day And Night, Fed On The Odors Of The Summer Dawn, And Folded In The Beauty Of The Stars. Dear Lord, Though I Be Changed To Senseless Clay, And Serve The Potter As He Turns His Wheel, I Thank Thee For The Gracious Gift Of Tears!

The Ring Of A False Coin Is Not More Recognizable Than That Of A Rhyme Setting Forth A False Sorrow.

The Young Girl In My Story Is To Be As Sensitive To Praise As A Prism Is To Light. Whenever Anybody Praises Her She Breaks Into Colors.

Decoration Day Is The Most Beautiful Of Our National Holidays.... The Grim Cannon Have Turned Into Palm Branches, And The Shell And Shrapnel Into Peach Blossoms.

What Is More Cheerful, Now, In The Fall Of The Year, Than An Open-wood-fire? Do You Hear Those Little Chirps And Twitters Coming Out Of That Piece Of Apple-wood? Those Are The Ghosts Of The Robins And Blue-birds That Sang Upon The Bough When It Was In Blossom Last Spring. In Summer Whole Flocks Of Them Come Fluttering About The Fruit-trees Under The Window: So I Have Singing Birds All The Year Round.