Laugh At All You Trembled At Before.

Ten Thousand Casks, Forever Dribbling Out Their Base Contents, Touch'd By The Midas Finger Of The State, Bleed Gold For Ministers To Sport Away. Drink, And Be Mad Then; 'tis Your Country Bids!

Pity! Religion Has So Seldom Found A Skilful Guide Into Poetic Ground! The Flowers Would Spring Where'er She Deign'd To Stray And Every Muse Attend Her In Her Way.

Gardening Imparts An Organic Perspective On The Passage Of Time.

They Fix Attention, Heedless Of Your Pain, With Oaths Like Rivets Forced Into The Brain; And E'en When Sober Truth Prevails Throughout, They Swear It, Till Affirmance Breeds A Doubt.

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.