Ideas Came With Explosive Immediacy, Like An

Not So, However, With Books, For Books Cannot Change. A Thousand Years Hence They Are What You Find Them To-day, Speaking The Same Words, Holding Forth The Same Cheer, The Same Promise, The Same Comfort; Always Constant, Laughing With Those Who Laugh And Weeping With Those Who Weep.

He Is So Mean, He Won't Let His Little Baby Have More Than One Measle At A Time.

There Is A Glorious Candor In An Honest Quart Of Wine, A Certain Inspitation Which I Cannot Well Define.

How Gracious Those Dews Of Solace That Over My Senses Fall At The Clink Of The Ice In The Pitcher The Boy Brings Up The Hall.

I'd Like A Stocking Made For A Giant, And A Meeting House Full Of Toys, Then I'd Go Out In A Happy Hunt For The Poor Little Girls And Boys; Up The Street And Down The Street, And Across And Over The Town, I'd Search And Find Them Everyone, Before The Sun Went Down.