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For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
the saddest are these, 'It might have been!'
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How dwarfed against his manliness she sees the poor pretension, the wants, the aims, the follies, born of fashion and convention!
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Peace hath higher tests of manhood than battle ever knew.
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Oh, for boyhood's painless play, sleep that wakes in laughing day, health that mocks the doctor's rules, knowledge never learned of schools.
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Of all that Orient lands can vaunt, of marvels with our own competing, the strangest is the Haschish plant, and what will follow on its eating.
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