In Man's Most Dark Extremity Oft Succour

November's Sky Is Chill And Drear, November's Leaf Is Red And Sear.

For Deadly Fear Can Time Outgo, And Blanch At Once The Hair.

I Am She, O Most Bucolical Juvenal, Under Whose Charge Are Placed The Milky Mothers Of The Herd.

As Long As The Fates Permit, Live Cheerfully.

Ambition Is No Cure For Love!