Tiny Salmoneus Of The Air His Mimic

Compromise Makes A Good Umbrella, But A Poor Roof.

To Fail At All Is To Fail Utterly.

Not As All Other Women Are Is She That To My Soul Is Dear; Her Glorious Fancies Come From Far, Beneath The Silver Evening Star, And Yet Her Heart Is Ever Near.

The Quiet Tenderness Of Chaucer, Where You Almost Seem To Hear The Hot Tears Falling, And The Simple Choking Words Sobbed Out.

Things Always Seem Fairer When We Look Back At Them, And It Is Out Of That Inaccessible Tower Of The Past That Longing Leans And Beckons.