“In the fall of leaves,In the hustle of breeze,In the curve of streams, I foresee,Nature keeps more concealed,Than it lets us peep!”

“A withered maple leaf has left its branch and is falling to the ground; its movements resemble those of a butterfly in flight. Isn’t it strange? The saddest and deadest of things is yet so like the gayest and most vital of creatures?”

“There is another alphabet, whispering from every leaf, singing from every river, shimmering from every sky.”