Lord, Keep My Memory Green.

I Saw That The Bride Within The Bridal Dress Had Withered Like The Dress, And Like The Flowers, And Had No Brightness Left But The Brightness Of Her Sunken Eyes.

The Air Came Laden With The Fragrance It Caught Upon Its Way, And The Bees, Upborne Upon Its Scented Breath, Hummed Forth Their Drowsy Satisfaction As They Floated By.

It Is A Melancholy Truth That Even Great Men Have Their Poor Relations.

They Are So Filthy And Bestial That No Honest Man Would Admit One Into His House For A Water-closet Doormat.

He Appeared To Enjoy Beyond Everything The Sound Of His Own Voice. I Couldn't Wonder At That, For It Was Mellow And Full And Gave Great Importance To Every Word He Uttered. He Listened To Himself With Obvious Satisfaction And Sometimes Gently Beat Time To His Own Music With His Head Or Rounded A Sentence With His Hand.