Gentle Dullness Ever Loves A Joke.

Never Find Fault With The Absent.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.

Death, Only Death, Can Break The Lasting Chain; And Here, Ev'n Then, Shall My Cold Dust Remain

Pretty! In Amber To Observe The Forms Of Hairs, Of Straws, Or Dirt, Or Grubs, Or Worms! The Things, We Know, Are Neither Rich Nor Rare, But Wonder How The Devil They Got There.

Our Business In The Field Of Fight, Is Not To Question, But To Prove Our Might.