The Poet Lights The Light And Fades

It Sounded As If The Streets Were Running, And Then The Streets Stood Still.

I Miss The Grasshoppers Much, But Suppose It Is All For The Best. I Should Become Too Much Attached To A Trotting World.

Our Little Kinsmen After Rain In Plenty May Be Seen, A Pink And Pulpy Multitude The Tepid Ground Upon; A Needless Life If Seemed To Me Until A Little Bird As To A Hospitality Advanced And Breakfasted.

Expectation Is Contentment - Gain Satiety.

Other Courtesies Have Been - Other Courtesy May Be - We Commend Ourselves To Thee Paragon Of Chivalry.