Poverty Is Obsolete And Hunger

Who Knows But We May Count Among Our Intellectual Chickens Like Them An Earl Of Thackeray And P'raps A Duke Of Dickens

What Though I Cannot Meet My Bills? What Though I Suffer Toothache's Ills? What Though I Swallow Countless Pills?

Strike The Concertina's Melancholy String! Blow The Spirit-stirring Harp Like Any Thing! Let The Piano's Martial Blast Rouse The Echoes Of The Past

All Bayonets Are Bad.

I Shall Carry To The Catacombs Of Age, Photographically Lined On The Tablet Of My Mind