These stars of earth, these golden flowers.
Do not delay, Do not delay: the golden moments fly!
Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find.
The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air.
Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.
The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!