Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.

What Is A Modern Poet's Fate? / To Write His Thoughts Upon A Slate; / The Critic Spits On What Is Done, / Gives It A Wipe - And All Is Gone.

Frost Is The Greatest Artist In Our Clime - He Paints In Nature And Describes In Rime.

When He Is Forsaken, Withered And Shaken, What Can An Old Man Do But Die?

Lives Of Great Men Oft Remind Us As We O'er Their Pages Turn, That We Too May Leave Behind Us - Letters That We Ought To Burn.

To Attempt To Advise Conceited People Is Like Whistling Against The Wind.