Who Is This That Comes In Grandeur,

Not Waving But Drowning Nobody Heard Him, The Dead Man, But Still He Lay Moaning: I Was Much Further Out Than You Thought And Not Waving But Drowning. Poor Chap, He Always Loved Larking And Now He's Dead It Must Have Been Too Cold For Him His Heart Gave Way, They Said. Oh, No No No, It Was Too Cold Always (still The Dead One Lay Moaning) I Was Much Too Far Out All My Life And Not Waving But Drowning.

Marriage I Think For Women Is The Best Of Opiates. It Kills The Thoughts That Think About The Thoughts, It Is The Best Of Opiates. So Said Maria. But Too Long In Solitude She'd Dwelt, And Too Long Her Thoughts Had Felt Their Strength. So When The Man Drew Near, Out Popped Her Thoughts And Covered Him With Fear. Poor Maria! Better That She Had Kept Her Thoughts On A Chain, For Now She's Alone Again And All In Pain; She Sighs For The Man That Went And The Thoughts That Stay To Trouble Her Dreams By Night And Her Dreams By Day.

As Nature Is Always Careless And Indifferent Who Sees, Who Steps, Means Nothing And This Is Pretty.

Coleridge Received The Person From Porlock And Ever After Called Him A Curse, Then Why Did He Hurry To Let Him In? He Could Have Hid In The House.

You Must Have Some Money If You Are Going To Live Simply. It Need Not Be Much, But You Must Have Some.