To Be Perfectly Original One Should Think

And Mocha's Berry, From Arabia Pure, In Small Fine China Cups, Came In At Last. Gold Cups Of Filigree, Made To Secure The Hand From Burning, Underneath Them Place. Cloves, Cinnamon And Saffron, Too, Were Boiled Up With The Coffee, Which, I Think, They Spoiled.

Man, Being Reasonable, Must Get Drunk; The Best Of Life Is But Intoxication.

On The Ear Drops The Light Drip Of The Suspended Oar.

If We Must Have A Tyrant, Let Him At Least Be A Gentleman Who Has Been Bred To The Business, And Let Us Fall By The Axe And Not By The Butcher's Cleaver.

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods.