Oh, Mirth And Innocence! Oh, Milk And

Years Steal Fire From The Mind As Vigor From The Limb; And Life's Enchanted Cup But Sparkles Near The Brim.

Be Warm, Be Pure, Be Amorous, But Be Chaste.

What Want These Outlaws Conquerors Should Have But History's Purchased Page To Call Them Great?

A Sleep Without Dreams, After A Rough Day Of Toil, Is What We Covet Most; And Yet How Clay Shrinks Back From More Quiescent Clay! The Very Suicide That Pays His Debt At Once Without Installments (an Old Way Of Paying Debts, Which Creditors Regret) Lets Out Impatiently His Rushing Breath, Less From Disgust Of Life Than Dread Of Death.

Are Not The Mountains, Waves, And Skies As Much A Part Of Me, As I Of Them?