The Mountain Sheep Are Sweeter, But The

But Still My Fancy Wanders Free Through That Which Might Have Been.

In A Bowl To Sea Went Wise Men Three, On A Brilliant Night Of June: They Carried A Net, And Their Hearts Were Set On Fishing Up The Moon.

Marriage May Often Be A Stormy Lake, But Celibacy Is Almost Always A Muddy Horsepond.

But Though First Love's Impassioned Blindness Has Passed Away In Colder Light, I Still Have Thought Of You With Kindness, And Shall Do, Till Our Last Goodnight. The Ever-rolling Silent Hours Will Bring A Time We Shall Not Know, When Our Young Days Of Gathering Flowers Will Be An Hundred Years Ago.

The Mountain Sheep Are Sweeter, But The Valley Sheep Are Fatter. We Therefore Deemed It Meeter To Carry Off The Latter.