A Pessimist Is A Man Who Tells

Proclaim Your Pride And Bitterness Loudly To The World, But To Me Speak Softly, And Tell Me Simply That She Doesn't Love You.

Where Lurk Sweet Echoes Of The Dear Homevoices, Each Note Of Which Calls Like A Little Sister, Those Airs Slow, Slow Ascending, As The Smokewreaths Rise From The Hearthstones Of Our Native Hamlets Cyrano Act 5.

A Kiss, When All Is Said, What Is It? An Oath That's Given Closer Than Before; A Promise More Precise; The Sealing Of Confessions That Till Then Were Barely Breathed; A Rosy Dot Placed On The I In Loving.

I Have A Different Idea Of Elegance. I Don't Dress Like A Fop, It's True, But My Moral Grooming Is Impeccable. I Never Appear In Public With A Soiled Conscience, A Tarnished Honor, Threadbare Scruples, Or An Insult That I Haven't Washed Away. I'm Always Immaculately Clean, Adorned With Independence And Frankness. I May Not Cut A Stylish Figure, But I Hold My Soul Erect. I Wear My Deeds As Ribbons, My Wit Is Sharper Then The Finest Mustache, And When I Walk Among Men I Make Truths Ring Like Spurs.

A Large Nose Is In Fact The Sign Of An Affable Man, Good, Courteous, Witty, Liberal, Courageous, Such As I Am.