Time Rolls His Ceaseless Course.

We Do That In Our Zeal Our Calmer Moment Would Be Afraid To Answer.

Many Of Our Cares Are But A Morbid Way Of Looking At Our Privileges

Dear To Me Is My Bonnie White Steed; Oft Has He Helped Me At Pinch Of Need.

I Am She, O Most Bucolical Juvenal, Under Whose Charge Are Placed The Milky Mothers Of The Herd.

Never Was Flattery Lost On A Poet's Ear; A Simple Race, They Waste Their Toil For The Vain Tribute Of A Smile.