Satire Is A Kind Of

Men Are But Children Of A Larger Growth.

Among Our Crimes Oblivion May Be Set.

All Flowers Will Droop In The Absence Of The Sun That Waked Their Sweets.

Murder May Pass Unpunishd For A Time, But Tardy Justice Will Oertake The Crime.

Dreams Are But Interludes That Fancy Makes... Sometimes Forgotten Things, Long Cast Behind Rush Forward In The Brain, And Come To Mind.