But Facts Are Facts And Flinch Not.

To Me At Least Was Never Evening Yet, But Seemed Far Beautifuller Than Its Day.

Truth Is Truth Howe'er It Strike.

Poetry, Like Love, Is Something We Never Truly Say Goodbye To.

And Let Them Pass, As They Will Too Soon, With The Bean-flowers' Boon, And The Blackbird's Tune, And May, And June!

The Trouble That Most Of Us Find With The Modern Matched Sets Of Clubs Is That They Don't Really Seem To Know Any More About The Game Than The Old Ones Did.