Whose Lenient Sorrows Find Relief, Whose Joys

We Are Like The Herb Which Flourisheth Most When It Is Most Trampled On.

Earth Walks On Earth, Glittering In Gold; Earth Goes To Earth, Sooner Than It Wold; Earth Builds On Earth, Palaces And Towers; Earth Says To Earth, Soon, All Shall Be Ours.

Certainly," Quoth Athelstane, "women Are The Least To Be Trusted Of All Animals, Monks And Abbots Excepted.

Heap On More Wood! - The Wind Is Chill; But Let It Whistle As It Will, We'll Keep Our Christmas Merry Still.

Some Feelings Are To Mortals Given With Less Of Earth In Them Than Heaven.