Only The Rich Are Lonesome.

With Our Short Sight We Affect To Take A Comprehensive View Of Eternity. Our Horizon Is The Universe.

Oh, How With More Than Dreams The Soul Is Torn, Ere Sleep Comes Down To Soothe The Weary Eyes.

A Minute To Smile And An Hour To Weep In, A Pint Of Joy To A Peck Of Trouble, And Never A Laugh But The Moans Come Double; And That Is Life!

It's All A Farce, - These Tales They Tell About The Breezes Sighing, And Moans Astir O'er Field And Dell, Because The Year Is Dying.

Washington Is The City Where The Big Men Of Little Towns Come To Be Disillusioned