Oh! God! That Bread Should

The Biggest Bore Of All Is He Who Is Overflowing With Congratulations

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

There Is Not A String Attuned To Mirth But Has Its Chord Of Melancholy.

She Stood Breast-high Amid The Corn Clasp'd By The Golden Light Of Morn, Like The Sweetheart Of The Sun, Who Many A Glowing Kiss Had Won.

My Books Kept Me From The Ring, The Dog-pit, The Tavern, And The Saloon.