God's Rarest Blessing Is, After All, A

Swift Doth Young Love Flee, And We Stand Wakened, Shivering From Our Dream.

And If I Drink Oblivion Of A Day, / So Shorten I The Stature Of My Soul.

Lovely Are The Curves Of The White Owl Sweeping Wavy In The Dusk Lit By One Large Star. Lone On The Fir-branch, His Rattle-note Unvaried, Brooding O'er The Gloom, Spins The Brown Eve-jar.

Comedy Is A Game Played To Throw Reflections Upon Social Life, And It Deals With Human Nature In The Drawing-room Of Civilized Men And Women, Where We Have No Dust Of The Struggling Outer World, No Mire, No Violent Crashes, To Make The Correctness Of The Representation Convincing.

When I Was Quite A Boy I Had A Spasm Of Religion Which Lasted Six Weeks... But I Never Since Have Swallowed The Christian Fable.