This Is To Be Along; This, This

I Am Always Most Religious Upon A Sunshiny Day.

But 'why Then Publish?' There Are No Rewards Of Fame Or Profit When The World Grows Weary. I Ask In Turn Why Do You Play At Cards? Why Drink? Why Read? To Make Some Hour Less Dreary. It Occupies Me To Turn Back Regards On What I've Seen Or Pondered, Sad Or Cheery, And What I Write I Cast Upon The Stream To Swim Or Sink. I Have Had At Least My Dream.

Nothing So Difficult As A Beginning In Poesy, Unless Perhaps The End.

All Who Joy Would Win Must Share It. Happiness Was Born A Twin.

He Scratched His Ear, The Infallible Resource To Which Embarrassed People Have Recourse.