As Leaves On The Trees, Such Is

In Every Sorrowing Soul I Pour'd Delight, And Poverty Stood Smiling In My Sight.

But You, Achilles,/ There Is Not A Man In The World More Blest Than You--/ There Never Has Been, Never Will Be One./ Time Was, When You Were Alive, We Argives/ Honored You As A God, And Now Down Here, I See/ You Lord It Over The Dead In All Your Power./ So Grieve No More At Dying, Great Achilles.’ I Reassured The Ghost, But He Broke Out Protesting,/ ‘no Winning Words About Death To Me, Shining Odysseus!/ By God, I’d Rather Slave On Earth For Another Man--/ Some Dirt-poor Tenant Farmer Who Scrapes To Keep Alive—than Rule Down Here Over All The Breathless Dead.

I Should Rather Labor As Another's Serf, In The Home Of A Man Without Fortune, One Whose Livelihood Was Meager, Than Rule Over All The Departed Dead.

You Never Know When An Old Calendar Might Come In Handy! Sure, It's Not 1985 Right Now, But Who Knows What Tomorrow Will Bring?

Once You Go Vatican, You Never Go Back Again.