A Happy Ending Cannot Come In The

For Precious Friends Hid In Death's Dateless Night.

They Lie Deadly That Tell You Have Good Faces.

This Is A Gift That I Have, Simple, Simple; A Foolish Extravagant Spirit Full Of Forms, Figures, Shapes, Objects, Ideas, Apprehensions, Motions, Revolutions; These Are Begot In The Ventricle Of Memory, Nourished In The Womb Of Pia Mater, And Delivered Upon The Mellowing Of Occasion.

No Particular Scandal One Can Touch But It Confounds The Breather.

Farewell, A Long Farewell To All My Greatness! This Is The State Of Man: Today He Puts Forth The Tender Leaves Of Hope, Tomorrow Blossoms, And Bears His Blushing Honours Thick Upon Him: The Third Day Comes A Frost, A Killing Frost, And - When He Thinks, Good Easy Man, Full Surely His Greatness Is A-ripening - Nips His Root, And Then He Falls, As I Do.