Self Praise Is No Praise

By Headless Charles See Heartless Henry Lies.

But There Are Wanderers O'er Eternity Whose Bark Drives On And On, And Anchor'd Ne'er Shall Be.

So Bright The Tear In Beauty's Eye, Love Half Regrets To Kiss It Dry.

Then Farewell, Horace; Whom I Hated So, Not For Thy Faults, But Mine.

Egeria! Sweet Creation Of Some Heart Which Found No Mortal Resting-place So Fair As Thine Ideal Breast.