A Crowd Flowed Over London Bridge, So

The Nightingales Are Singing Near The Convent Of The Sacred Heart, And Sang Within The Bloody Wood When Agamemnon Cried Aloud, And Let Their Liquid Siftings Fall To Stain The Stiff Dishonored Shroud.

It Is Impossible To Say Just What I Mean!

In Our Rhythm Of Earthly Life We Tire Of Light. We Are Glad When The Day Ends, When The Play Ends; And Ecstasy Is Too Much Pain.

All Cases Are Unique And Very Similar To Others.

Envy Is Everywhere. Who Is Without Envy? And Most People Are Unaware Or Unashamed Of Being Envious.