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Be gather'd like a scroll within the

tomb Unread forever.

This is life to come, Which martyr'd men have made more

glorious For us who strive to follow. May I

reach That purest heaven, be to other souls The cup of strength in some great

agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffus’d, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible, Whose music is the gladness of the world.

-George Eliot.


WANDERED lonely as a

cloud I

That floats on high o'er

vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I, at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company;
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had



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For oft, when on my couch I lie,

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.

-William Wordsworth.



OES the road lead up hill

all the way?

Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take

the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting

place? A roof for when the slow dark hours

begin? May not the darkness hide it from my

face? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before. Then must I knock, or call when just

in sight? They will not keep you standing at

the door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and

weak? Of labor you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who

Yea, beds for all who come.



ELIEVE me, if all those en

dearing young charms, B Which I gaze on so fondly

to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away! Thou wouldst still be adored as at this

moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of

my heart

Would entwine itself verdantly still. It is not while beauty and youth are

thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul may

be known, To which time will but make thee

more dear! O the heart that has truly loved never

forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns to her god when

he sets The same look which she turned when he rose.

-Thomas Moore.

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