He maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. Her hardest hue to hold. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.
Youth is like spring, an over-praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes.
Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits. Many of the phenomena of Winter are suggestive of an inexpressible tenderness and fragile delicacy. Water A river seems a magic thing. A magic, moving, living part of the very earth itself. Rivers are highways that move on, and bear us whither we wish to go.