She Poured A Little Social

Not Till The Fire Is Dying In The Grate, Look We For Any Kinship With The Stars.

The Man Of Science Is Nothing If Not A Poet Gone Wrong.

Ah, What A Dusty Answer Gets The Soul When Hot For Certainties In This Our Life! - In Tragic Hints Here See What Evermore Moves Dark As Yonder Midnight Ocean's Force, Thundering Like Ramping Hosts Of Warrior Horse, To Throw That Faint Thin Fine Upon The Shore!

When I Was Quite A Boy I Had A Spasm Of Religion Which Lasted Six Weeks... But I Never Since Have Swallowed The Christian Fable.

A Kiss Is But A Kiss Now! And No Wave Of A Great Flood That Whirls Me To The Sea. But, As You Will! We'll Sit Contentedly, And Eat Our Pot Of Honey On The Grave.