The Mortal Sickness Of A Mind Too

Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall, But When They Drop And Die No Star Is Lost At All From All The Star-sown Sky. The Toil Of All That Be Helps Not The Primal Fault; It Rains Into The Sea And Still The Sea Is Salt.

They Put Arsenic In His Meat And Stared Aghast To Watch Him Eat; They Poured Strychnine In His Cup And Shook To See Him Drink It Up.

If A Man Will Comprehend The Richness And Variety Of The Universe, And Inspire His Mind With A Due Measure Of Wonder And Awe, He Must Contemplate The Human Intellect Not Only On Its Heights Of Genius But In Its Abysses Of Ineptitude.

Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff: You Eat Your Victuals Fast Enough; There Can't Be Much Amiss, 'tis Clear, To See The Rate You Drink Your Beer. But Oh, Good Lord, The Verse You Make, It Gives A Chap The Belly-ache. The Cow, The Old Cow, She Is Dead; It Sleeps Well The Horned Head: We Poor Lads, 'tis Our Turn Now To Hear Such Tunes As Killed The Cow. Pretty Friendship 'tis To Rhyme Your Friends To Death Before Their Time. Moping, Melancholy Mad: Come, Pipe A Tune To Dance To, Lad.

The Thoughts Of Others Were Light And Fleeting, Of Lovers' Meeting Or Luck Or Fame. Mine Were Of Trouble, And Mine Were Steady; So I Was Ready When Trouble Came.