Comfort And Indolence Are Cronies.

I Saw Old Autumn In The Misty Morn Stand Shadowless Like Silence, Listening To Silence.

My Brain Is Dull, My Sight Is Foul, I Cannot Write A Verse, Or Read-- Then, Pallas, Take Away Thine Owl, And Let Us Have A Lark Instead.

Some Minds Improve By Travel, Others, Rather, Resemble Copper Wire, Or Brass, Which Get The Narrower By Going Farther.

Comfort And Indolence Are Cronies.

The Lily Is All In White, Like A Saint, And So Is No Mate For Me.