And Inasmuch As Feeling, The

In The Morning Of The World, When Earth Was Nigher Heaven Than Now.

What's A Man's Age? He Must Hurry More, That's All; Cram In A Day, What His Youth Took A Year To Hold.

The Sad Rhyme Of The Men Who Proudly Clung To Their First Fault, And Withered In Their Pride.

Rats They Fought The Dogs And Killed The Cats, And Bit The Babies In The Cradles, And Ate The Cheeses Out Of The Vats, And Licked The Soup From The Cook's Own Ladles. Split Open The Kegs Of Salted Sprats, Made Nests Inside Men's Sunday Hats, And Even Spoiled The Women's Chats By Drowning Their Speaking With Shrieking And Squeaking In Fifty Different Sharps And Flats.

Death: The Grand Perhaps.