harmonies and hues beneath,
As tender as its own:
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be."

18. "When a bee brings pollen into the hive, he advances to
the cell in which it is to be deposited and kicks it off as
one might his overalls or rubber boots, making one foot help
the other; then he walks off without ever looking behind
him; another bee, one of the indoor hands, comes along and
rams it down with his head and packs it in the cell as the
dairy-maid packs butter into a firkin."

19. "For thy desires
Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous."

20. "What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how
infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and
admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how
like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of
animals!"

21. "And in her cheeks the vermeil red did shew
Like roses in a bed of lilies shed."

22. He betrayed his friend with a Judas kiss.

23. "A true poet is not one whom they can hire by money and
flattery to be a minister of their pleasures, their writer
of occasional verses, their purveyor of table wit; he cannot
be their menial, he cannot even be their partisan. At the
peril of both parties let no such union be attempted. Will a
Courser of the Sun work softly in the harness of a
Dray-horse? His hoofs are of fire, and his path is through
the heavens, bringing light to all lands; will he lumber on
mud highways, dragging ale for earthly appetites from door
to door?"

24. "Hath a dog money? is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?"

25. "Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood."

26. They sleep together,--the gray and the blue.

27. "Have not the Indians been kindly and justly treated?
Have not the temporal things--the vain baubles and filthy
lucre of this world--which were apt to engage their worldly
and selfish thoughts, been benevolently taken from them? And
have they not, instead thereof, been taught to set their
affections on things above?" (Quoted from Meiklejohn's "The
Art of Writing English.")

28. "Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes."