The Best Of Friends Fall Out, And

My Books Kept Me From The Ring, The Dog-pit, The Tavern, And The Saloon.

Such A Blush In The Midst Of Brown Was Born, Like Red Poppies Grown With Corn.

What Is Mind? No Matter. What Is Matter? Never Mind. What Is The Soul? It Is Immaterial.

Comfort And Indolence Are Cronies.

No Sun, No Moon, No Morn, No Noon, No Dawn, No Dusk, No Proper Time Of Day, . . . . . . No Road, No Street, No T' Other Side The Way, . . . . . . No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Buds.