To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
It is a test of true theories not only to account for but to predict phenomena.
A stable, changeless state, ’twere cause indeed to weep.
Loveliest of lovely things are they on earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature’s teachings.
Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?
A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
The groves were God’s first temples.