The Song Seraphically Free Of Taint Of

George Eliot Has The Heart Of Sappho; But The Face, With The Long Proboscis, The Protruding Teeth Of The Apocalyptic Horse, Betrayed Animality.

I Expect Woman Will Be The Last Thing Civilized By Man.

We Know The Degree Of Refinement In People By The Matter They Laugh At And The Ring Of The Laugh.

I've Studied Men From My Topsy-turvy Close, And I Reckon, Rather True. Some Are Fine Fellows: Some, Right Scurvy; Most, A Dash Between The Two.

For Singing Till His Heaven Fills, 'tis Love Of Earth That He Instills, And Ever Winging Up And Up, Our Valley Is His Golden Cup, And He The Wine Which Over Flows To Lift Us With Him As He Goes.