The Laurels Of An Orator Who Is

The Possession Of Gold Has Ruined Fewer Men Than The Lack Of It.

This One Sits Shivering In Fortune's Smile, Taking His Joy With Bated, Doubtful Breath. This Other, Gnawed By Hunger, All The While Laughs In The Teeth Of Death.

So Precious Life Is! Even To The Old, The Hours Are As A Miser's Coins!

The Man Who Suspects His Own Tediousness Is Yet To Be Born.

Hebe's Here, May Is Here! The Air Is Fresh And Sunny; And The Miser-bees Are Busy Hoarding Golden Honey.