He Who Plants A Tree, Plants A

He Who Plants A Tree, Plants A Hope.

Thou Hastenest Down Between The Hills To Meet Me At The Road, The Secret Scarcely Lisping Of Thy Beautiful Abode Among The Pines And Mosses Of Yonder Shadowy Height, Where Thou Dost Sparkle Into Song, And Fill The Woods With Light.

Every Phase Of Our Life Belongs To Us. The Moon Does Not, Except In Appearance, Lose Her First Thin, Luminous Curve, Nor Her Silvery Crescent, In Rounding To Her Full. The Woman Is Still Both Child And Girl, In The Completeness Of Womanly Character.

Let Us Not Depreciate Earth. There Is No Atom In It But Is Alive And Astir In The All-penetrating Splendor Of God. From The Infinitesimal To The Infinite, Everything Is Striving To Express The Thought Of His Presence With Which It Overflows.

I Believe The Best Poetry Of Our Times Is Growing Too Artistic; The Study Is Too Visible. If Freedom And Naturalness Are Lost Out Of Poetry, Everything Worth Having Is Lost.