The Goodness Of Your True Pun Is

Sleep, Those Little Slices Of Death — How I Loathe Them.

Perversity Is The Human Thirst For Self-torture.

Poetry Is The Rhythmical Creation Of Beauty In Words.

Hear The Mellow Wedding Bells, Golden Bells! What A World Of Happiness Their Harmony Foretells Through The Balmy Air Of Night How They Ring Out Their Delight! From The Molten Golden Notes, And All In Tune What A Liquid Ditty Floats To The Turtle-dove That Listens While She Gloats On The Moon!

In The Heaven's Above, The Angels, Whispering To One Another, Can Find, Among Their Burning Terms Of Love, None So Devotional As That Of 'mother.