Some Minds Improve By Travel,

O Bed! O Bed! Delicious Bed! That Heaven Upon Earth To The Weary Head.

Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery Spray.

Lives Of Great Men Oft Remind Us As We O'er Their Pages Turn, That We Too May Leave Behind Us - Letters That We Ought To Burn.

Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume: There's Crimson Buds, And White And Blue, The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turned To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers.

What Is Mind? No Matter. What Is Matter? Never Mind. What Is The Soul? It Is Immaterial.