Freedom Is A New Religion, The Religion

From Every Englishman Emanates A Kind Of Gas, The Deadly Choke-damp Of Boredom.

On The Waves Of The Brook She Dances By, The Light, The Lovely Dragon-fly; She Dances Here, She Dances There, The Shimmering, Glimmering Flutterer Fair. And Many A Foolish Young Beetle's Impressed By The Blue Gauze Gown In Which She Is Dressed; They Admire The Enamel That Decks Her Bright, And Her Elegant Waist So Slim And Slight.

Whatever Tears One May Shed, In The End One Always Blows One's Nose.

The Sea Appears All Golden. Beneath The Sun-lit Sky.

I Will Not Say That Women Have No Character; Rather, They Have A New One Every Day.