But Evil Is Wrought By Want Of

No Blessed Leisure For Love Or Hope, But Only Time For Grief.

We Watch'd Her Breathing Through The Night, Her Breathing Soft And Low, As In Her Breast The Wave Of Life Kept Heaving To And Fro.

The Autumn Is Old; The Sere Leaves Are Flying; He Hath Gather'd Up Gold, And Now He Is Dying;- Old Age, Begin Sighing!

My Tears Must Stop, For Every Drop Hinders Needle And Thread.

Apothegms Form A Short Cut To Much Knowledge.