Unable Are The Loved To Die, For

Bring Me The Sunset In A Cup.

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

Belshazzar Had A Letter,-- He Never Had But One; Belshazzar's Correspondence Concluded And Begun In That Immortal Copy The Conscience Of Us All Can Read Without Its Glasses On Revelation's Wall.

A Dominie In Gray-- Put Gently Up The Evening Bars-- And Led The Flock Away

We Turn Not Older With Years But Newer Every Day.