Fail I Alone, In Words And Deeds?

You Should Not Take A Fellow Eight Years Old And Make Him Swear To Never Kiss The Girls.

How Well I Know What I Mean To Do When The Long Dark Autumn Evenings Come, And Where, My Soul, Is Thy Pleasant Hue? With The Music Of All Thy Voices, Dumb In Life’s November Too! I Shall Be Found By The Fire, Suppose, O’er A Great Wise Book As Beseemeth Age, While The Shutters Flap As The Cross-wind Blows, And I Turn The Page, And I Turn The Page, Not Verse Now, Only Prose!

Who Hears Music Feels His Solitude Peopled At Once.

The Devil, That Old Stager, Who Leads Downward, Perhaps, But Fiddles All The Way!

This Could But Have Happened Once,- And We Missed It, Lost It Forever.