Luck's A Chance, But Trouble's Sure.

The Average Man, If He Meddles With Criticism At All, Is A Conservative Critic.

Oh, 'tis Jesting, Dancing, Drinking Spins The Heavy World Around.

There, Like The Wind Through Woods In Riot, Through Him The Gale Of Life Blew High; The Tree Of Man Was Never Quiet: Then 'twas The Roman, Now 'tis I.

The Rainy Pleiads Wester Orion Plunges Prone, And Midnight Strikes And Hastens, And I Lie Down Alone.

You Smile Upon Your Friend To-day, To-day His Ills Are Over; You Hearken To The Lover's Say, And Happy Is The Lover. 'tis Late To Hearken, Late To Smile, But Better Late Than Never: I Shall Have Lived A Little While Before I Die For Ever.