The Sky Is Filled With

Saint Augustine! Well Hast Thou Said, That Of Our Vices We Can Frame A Ladder, If We Will But Tread Beneath Our Feet Each Deed Of Shame.

O Lovely River Of Yvette! O Darling River! Like A Bride, Some Dimpled, Bashful, Fair Lisette Thou Goest To Wed The Orge's Tide. O Lovely River Yvette! O Darling Stream! On Balanced Wings The Wood-birds Sang The Chansonnette That Here A Wandering Poet Sings.

The Mind Of The Scholar, If You Would Have It Large And Liberal, Should Come In Contact With Other Minds. It Is Better That His Armor Should Be Somewhat Bruised By Rude Encounters Even, Than Hang Forever Rusting On The Wall.

Joy, Temperance, And Repose, Slam The Door On The Doctor's Nose.

Life Hath Quicksands, Life Hath Snares!