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Who among us has not, in moments of ambition, dreamt of the miracle of a form of poetic prose, musical but without rhythm and rhyme, both supple and staccato enough to adapt itself to the lyrical movements of our souls, the undulating movements of our reveries, and the convulsive movements of our consciences? This obsessive ideal springs above all from frequent contact with enormous cities, from the junction of their innumerable connections.

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Richard Watson Gilder

Give me a theme," the little poet cried, "And I will do my part," "'Tis not a theme you need," the world replied; "You need a heart.

Giving, Heart, Needs, Part, Poet, Replied
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Better than honor and glory, and History's iron pen, Was the thought of duty done and the love of his fellow-men.

Duty, Love, Memorial Day, Men, Thought, Veterans Day

We lean on Faith; and some less wise have cried, "Behold the butterfly, the see that's cast!" Vain hopes that fall like flowers before the blast! What man can look on Death unterrified?

Faith, Flower, Lean, Like, Look, Wise

In the embers shining bright A garden grows for thy delight, With roses yellow, red, and white. But, O my child, beware, beware! Touch not the roses growing there, For every rose a thorn doth bear.

Children, Doth, Garden, Rose, Yellow

What if thou be saint or sinner, Crooked gray-beard, straight beginner,-- Empty paunch, or jolly dinner, When Death thee shall call. All like are rich or richer, King with crown, and cross-legged stitcher, When the grave hides all.

Death, Dinner, Kings, Saint, Sinner, What If

Oh, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will, "Polly!-Polly!- The cows are in the corn! Oh, where's Polly?"

Down, Father, Mill, Mother, Robins, Summer
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