Life Is Not Measured By The Time

Who Often Reads, Will Sometimes Wish To Write.

Circles In Water As They Wider Flow The Less Conspicuous In Their Progress Grow, And When At Last They Trench Upon The Shore, Distinction Ceases And They're View'd No More.

But Jest Apart--what Virtue Canst Thou Trace In That Broad Trim That Hides Thy Sober Face? Does That Long-skirted Drab, That Over-nice And Formal Clothing, Prove A Scorn Of Vice? Then For Thine Accent--what In Sound Can Be So Void Of Grace As Dull Monotony?

Her Air, Her Manners, All Who Saw Admir'd; Courteous Though Coy, And Gentle Though Retir'd; The Joy Of Youth And Health Her Eyes Display'd, And Ease Of Heart Her Every Look Convey'd.

The Wife Was Pretty, Trifling, Childish, Weak; She Could Not Think, But Would Not Cease To Speak.