And the host of airy quill-drivers
First dipped their pens in mist.
June 14.
Truth, Goodness, Beauty,—those celestial thrins,[32]
Continually are born; e'en now the Universe,
With thousand throats, and eke with greener smiles,
Its joy confesses at their recent birth.
Strange that so many fickle gods, as fickle as the weather,
Throughout Dame Nature's provinces should always pull together.
June 16.