The hollows are heavy and dank With the steam of the Goldenrods. - Bayard Taylor

If she but smile, the crystal calm shall break In music, sweeter than it ever gave, As when a breeze breathes o'er some sleeping lake, And laughs in every wave.

All, wherein I have part, All that was loss or gain, Slips from the clasping heart, Breaks from the grasping brain. <p> Lo, what is left? I am bare As a new-born soul, — I am naught: My deeds are dust in air, My words are ghosts of thought. I ride through the night alone, Detached from the life that seemed, And the best I have felt or known Is less than the least I dreamed.

Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest Your truth and valor wearing: The bravest are the tenderest,—
The loving are the daring.