A woman despises a man for loving her, unless she happens to return…

Comfort is tedious when it lasts too long.

The desolation of winter sustains our frail hopes. Nature is kindest then; she does not taunt us with fruition. It is the luxury of summer which tantalizes—her long, brilliant, blossoming days, her dewy, radiant nights.

Never does the soul feel so far from human life as when a man finds himself alone in the vistas of the moon, either in the streets of a sleeping city, the avenues of the woods, or by the border of the sea. Earth, swayed perhaps by her …

I hail the seasons as they go, I woo the sunshine, brave the wind, I scan the lily and the rose, I nod to every nodding tree, I follow every stream that flows, And wait beside the steadfast sea.

The country is crazy with barrenness, and the sea mocks it with its terrible beauty.

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—