O Woman, Perfect Woman! What Distraction Was

O Great Corrector Of Enormous Times, Shaker Of O'er-rank States, Thou Grand Decider Of Dusty And Old Titles, That Healest With Blood The Earth When It Is Sick, And Curest The World O' The Pleurisy Of People.

Death Hath So Many Doors To Let Out Life.

Drink Today, And Drown All Sorrow; You Shall Perhaps Not Do Tomorrow.

He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Sober, Falls As The Leaves Do, And Dies In October; But He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Mellow, Lives As He Ought To Do, And Dies An Honest Fellow.

That Soul That Can Be Honest Is The Only Perfect Man.