Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The soul that riseth with us, our life's star,
Hath elsewhere had its setting,
And cometh from afar.
—Wordsworth.
125
YOUTH.
My birthday!—What a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears!
And now each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears.
—Moore.
126
Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others, can not keep it from themselves.
—Barrie.