The Waste Of Plenty Is The Resource

He Kept At True Good Humor's Mark The Social Flow Of Pleasure's Tide: He Never Made A Brow Look Dark, Nor Caused A Tear, But When He Died.

Laughter Is Pleasant, But The Exertion At My Age Is Too Much For Me.

Time, The Foe Of Man's Dominion, Wheels Around In Ceaseless Flight, Scattering From His Hoary Pinion Shades Of Everlasting Night.

I Never Failed To Convince An Audience That The Best Thing They Could Do Was To Go Away.

But Though First Love's Impassioned Blindness Has Passed Away In Colder Light, I Still Have Thought Of You With Kindness, And Shall Do, Till Our Last Goodnight. The Ever-rolling Silent Hours Will Bring A Time We Shall Not Know, When Our Young Days Of Gathering Flowers Will Be An Hundred Years Ago.