I Am The Very Slave Of Circumstance

Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The Fatal Gift Of Beauty.

And Doubt And Discord Step 'twixt Thine And Thee.

Eat, Drink And Love...the Rest Is Not Worth A Nickel

A Feast Not Profuse But Elegant; More Of Salt [refinement] Than Of Expense.

From The Mingled Strength Of Shade And Light A New Creation Rises To My Sight, Such Heav'nly Figures From His Pencil Flow, So Warm With Light His Blended Colors Glow. . . . . The Glowing Portraits, Fresh From Life, That Bring Home To Our Hearts The Truth From Which They Spring.