Some Poems Are Like The Centaurs--a Mingling

Lives Of Great Men All Remind Us We Can Make Our Lives Sublime, And Departing, Leave Behind Us Footprints On The Sands Of Time.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begin, Each Evening Sees It Close.

The Mind Of The Scholar, If You Would Have It Large And Liberal, Should Come In Contact With Other Minds. It Is Better That His Armor Should Be Somewhat Bruised By Rude Encounters Even, Than Hang Forever Rusting On The Wall.

If We Could Read The Secret History Of Our Enemies.

We Waste Our Best Years In Distilling The Sweetest Flowers Of Life Into Potions Which, After All, Do Not Immortalize, But Only Intoxicate.