't Was Good Advice, And Meant, My

A Club There Is Of Smokers--dare You Come To That Close, Clouded, Hot, Narcotic Room? When, Midnight Past, The Very Candles Seem Dying For Air, And Give A Ghastly Gleam; When Curling Fumes In Lazy Wreaths Arise, And Prosing Topers Rub Their Winking Eyes.

But Monument Themselves Memorials Need.

Life Is Not Measured By The Time We Live.

The Game Is Never Lost Till Won.

See Time Has Touched Me Gently In His Race, And Left No Odious Furrows In My Face.