Hung on the shower that fronts the golden West, The rainbow bursts like magic on mine eyes! In hues of ancient promise there imprest; Frail in its date, eternal in its guise.

Rain, rain, and sun! a rainbow in the sky!

Not until he stood at the altar did he achieve a sense of being hale and furnished. It was strange, he thought, that a man would find his surest current in the spot where he felt least worthy.

It was a perfect night for a train. The occasional whistle told Louis of all the farewells he had ever known.

Oh! that the memories which survive us here Were half so lovely as these wings of thine! Pure relics of a blameless life, that shine Now thou art gone.

When the whistle blew and the call stretched thin across the night, one had to believe that any journey could be sweet to the soul.