I See In The Papers Where Roy

While We May Open The Books Of The Past, We May But Grant Flying Glances Of The Future, Through The Mist That Veils It.

All Fled—all Done, So Lift Me On The Pyre— The Feast Is Over, And The Lamps Expire.

I Never Saw A Man Fight As Conan Fought. He Put His Back To The Courtyard Wall, And Before They Overpowered Him The Dead Men Were Strewn In Heaps Thigh-deep About Him. But At Last They Dragged Him Down, A Hundred Against One.

The Only Safe Enemy Was A Headless Enemy.

My Body Seems A Mere Encumbrance To Me; An Imbecillic Wagon, Hitched To The Horse Of Desire, Which Is The Soul.