Even Pain Pricks To Livelier Living.

Happiness, To Some, Elation; Is, To Others, Mere Stagnation.

In My Stiff, Brocaded Gown. With My Powdered Hair And Jeweled Fan, I Too Am A Rare Pattern.

My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

Fifteen Millions Of Soldiers With Popguns And Horses All Bent Upon Killing, Because Their "of Courses" Are Not Quite The Same.

Polyphonic Prose Is A Kind Of Free Verse, Except That It Is Still Freer. Polyphonic Makes Full Use Of Cadence, Rime, Alliteration, Assonance.