-
Scarcely a tear to shed; Hardly a word to say; The end of a Summer's day; Sweet Love is dead.
-
Does not the latent feeling that much of their striving is to no purpose tend to infuse large quantities of sham into men's work?
-
Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside; It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and waterswide.
-
Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!
-
I believe in Success, And in Comfort no less I believe all the rest is but patter.
-
Sin we have explain'd away; Unluckily, the sinners stay.
-
Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss - sweeter this Than any other thing!
-
Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day.