But O The Truth, The Truth. The

Friendship, I Fancy, Means One Heart Between Two.

The Sun Is Coming Down To Earth, And The Fields And The Waters Shout To Him Golden Shouts.

Around The Ancient Track Marched, Rank On Rank, The Army Of Unalterable Law.

The Season Of Love Is The Carnival Of Egoism And It Brings A Touchstone To Our Natures.

I've Studied Men From My Topsy-turvy Close, And I Reckon, Rather True. Some Are Fine Fellows: Some, Right Scurvy; Most, A Dash Between The Two.