Take My Love. One Day

Remorse Is The Poison Of Life.

Am I Hideous, Jane? Very, Sir: You Always Were, You Know.

Spring Drew On... And A Greenness Grew Over Those Brown Beds, Which, Freshening Daily, Suggested The Thought That Hope Traversed Them At Night And Left Each Morning Brighter Traces Of Her Steps.

Prejudices, It Is Well Known, Are Most Difficult To Eradicate From The Heart Whose Soil Has Never Been Loosened Or Fertilized By Education; They Grow Firm There, Firm As Weeds Among Stones.

A Christmas Frost Had Come At Midsummer; A White December Storm Had Whirled Over June; Ice Glazed The Ripe Apples, Drifts Crushed The Blowing Roses; On Hayfield And Cornfield Lay A Frozen Shroud: Lanes Which Last Night Blushed Full Of Flowers, To-day Were Pathless With Untrodden Snow; And The Woods, Which Twelve Hours Since Waved Leafy And Flagrant As Groves Between The Tropics, Now Spread, Waste, Wild, And White As Pine-forests In Wintry Norway.