There Are Tones Of Voices That Mean

If You Don't Know How Great This Country Is, I Know Someone Who Does; Russia.

Nobody Was Ever Meant, To Remember Or Invent, What He Did With Every Cent.

Oh, Give Us Pleasure In The Flowers To-day; And Give Us Not To Think So Far Away As The Uncertain Harvest; Keep Us Here All Simply In The Springing Of The Year. Oh, Give Us Pleasure In The Orchard White, Like Nothing Else By Day, Like Ghosts By Night; And Make Us Happy In The Happy Bees, The Swarm Dilating Round The Perfect Trees.

Nothing Flatters Me More Than To Have It Assumed That I Could Write Prose, Unless It Be To Have It Assumed That I Once Pitched A Baseball With Distinction.

I'd Like To Go By Climbing A Birch Tree~ And Climb Black Branches Up A Snow-white Trunk Toward Heaven, Till The Tree Could Bear No More, But Dipped Its Top And Set Me Down Again. That Would Be Good Both Going And Coming Back. One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.