Science Has Succeeded To Poetry, No Less

My Only Books Were Woman's Looks,- And Folly 's All They 've Taught Me.

New Year's Day Is Every Man's Birthday.

I Am Retired Leisure. I Am To Be Met With In Trim Gardens. I Am Already Come To Be Known By My Vacant Face And Careless Gesture, Perambulating At No Fixed Pace Nor With Any Settled Purpose. I Walk About; Not To And From.

Our Spirits Grow Gray Before Our Hairs.

Cards Are War, In Disguise Of A Sport.