Falsehood Falsehood Cures

How Much An Ill Word May Empoison Liking!

So Get The Start Of The Majestic World And Bear The Palm Alone.

When I Bestride Him, I Soar, I Am A Hawk: He Trots The Air; The Earth Sings When He Touches It; The Basest Horn Of His Hoof Is More Musical Than The Pipe Of Hermes.

An Envious Fever Of Pale And Bloodless Emulation.

If I May Trust The Flattering Truth Of Sleep, My Dreams Presage Some Joyful News At Hand. My Bosom's Lord Sits Lightly In His Throne, And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.