Laughter Is Pleasant, But The Exertion At

Clouds On Clouds, In Volumes Driven, Curtain Round The Vault Of Heaven.

Time, The Foe Of Man's Dominion, Wheels Around In Ceaseless Flight, Scattering From His Hoary Pinion Shades Of Everlasting Night.

He Kept At True Good Humor's Mark The Social Flow Of Pleasure's Tide: He Never Made A Brow Look Dark, Nor Caused A Tear, But When He Died.

Marriage May Often Be A Stormy Lake, But Celibacy Is Almost Always A Muddy Horsepond.

The Juice Of The Grape Is The Liquid Quintessence Of Concentrated Sunbeams.