A Poem Round And Perfect As A

Trees Are Your Best Antiques

Every Man's Road In Life Is Marked By The Grave Of His Personal Likings.

Christmas Is The Day That Holds All Time Together.

I Go Into My Library, And All History Unrolls Before Me. I Breathe The Morning Air Of The World While The Scent Of Eden's Roses Yet Lingered In It, While It Vibrated Only To The World's First Brood Of Nightingales, And To The Laugh Of Eve. I See The Pyramids Building; I Hear The Shoutings Of The Armies Of Alexander.

Every Day Travels Toward Death; The Last Only Arrives At It.