So We Keep Asking, Over And Over,until

Poverty Sits By The Cradle Of All Our Great Men And Rocks All Of Them To Manhood.

At Noon I Feel As Though I Could Devour All The Elephants Of Hindostan, And Then Pick My Teeth With The Spire Of Strasburg Cathedral; In The Evening I Become So Sentimental That I Would Fain Drink Up The Milky Way Without Reflecting How Indigestible I Should Find The Little Fixed Stars, And By Night There Is The Devil Himself Broke Loose In My Head And No Mistake.

Matrimony; The High Sea For Which No Compass Has Yet Been Invented.

The Gazelles So Gentle And Clever Skip Lightly In Frolicsome Mood.

As The Stars Are The Glory Of The Sky, So Great Men Are The Glory Of Their Country, Yea, Of The Whole Earth. The Hearts Of Great Men Are The Stars Of Earth; And Doubtless When One Looks Down From Above Upon Our Planet, These Hearts Are Seen To Send Forth, A Silvery Light Just Like The Stars Of Heaven.