I Almost Think It Is

Death Comes To All. His Cold And Sapless Hand Waves O'er The World, And Beckons Us Away. Who Shall Resist The Summons?

The Highest Wisdom And The Highest Genius Have Been Invariably Accompanied With Cheerfulness. We Have Sufficient Proofs On Record That Shakespeare And Socrates Were The Most Festive Companions.

My Thoughts By Night Are Often Filled With Visions False As Fair: For In The Past Alone, I Build My Castles In The Air.

In A Bowl To Sea Went Wise Men Three, On A Brilliant Night Of June: They Carried A Net, And Their Hearts Were Set On Fishing Up The Moon.

My Quarrel With Him Is, That His Works Contain Nothing Worth Quoting; And A Book That Furnishes No Quotations, Is Me Judice, No Book,—it Is A Plaything.