I've A Neater, Sweeter Maiden In A

Once There Was The People - Terror Gave It Birth.

The Beasts Are Very Wise, Their Mouths Are Clean Of Lies, They Talk One To The Other, Bullock To Bullock Brothers Resting After Their Labors, Each In Stall With His Neighbors, But Man With Goad And Whip, Breaks Up Their Fellowship, Shouts In Their Silky Ears Filling Their Soul With Fears. When He Has Plowed The Land, He Says: "they Understand." But The Beasts In Stall Together, Freed From The Yoke And Tether, Say As The Torn Flank Smoke: "nay, 'twas The Whip That Spoke."

There Are Gems Of Wondrous Brightness Ofttimes Lying At Our Feet, And We Pass Them, Walking Thoughtless, Down The Busy, Crowded Street. If We Knew, Our Pace Would Slacken, We Would Step More Oft With Care, Lest Our Careless Feet Be Treading To The Earth Some Jewel Rare.

A People Always Ends By Resembling Its Shadow.

There Are Few Things Sweeter In This World Than The Guileless, Hotheaded, Intemperate, Open Admiration Of A Junior. Even A Woman In Her Blindest Devotion Does Not Fall Into The Gait Of The Man She Adores, Tilt Her Bonnet To The Angle At Which He Wears His Hat, Or Interlard Her Speech With His Pet Oaths.