Tact Is After All A Kind Of

So We Die Before Our Own Eyes; So We See Some Chapters Of Our Lives Come To Their Natural End.

This Was One Of Those Perfect New England Days In Late Summer Where The Spirit Of Autumn Takes A First Stealing Flight, Like A Spy, Through The Ripening Country-side, And, With Feigned Sympathy For Those Who Droop With August Heat, Puts Her Cool Cloak Of Bracing Air About Leaf And Flower And Human Shoulders.

There's Some Herb That's Good For Everybody, Except For Them That Thinks They're Sick When They Ain't.

When She Walked...she Stretched Out Long And Thin Like A Little Tiger, And Held Her Head High To Look Over The Grass As If She Were Treading The Jungle.

The Old Poets Little Knew What Comfort They Could Be To A Man.