I Would Rather Be A Serf In

In Every Sorrowing Soul I Pour'd Delight, And Poverty Stood Smiling In My Sight.

How Prone To Doubt, How Cautious Are The Wise!

It Is Entirely Seemly For A Young Man Killed In Battle To Lie Mangled By The Bronze Spear. In His Death All Things Appear Fair.

It Is Wrong To Be Sorry Without Ceasing.

Even A Fool Learns Something Once It Hits Him.