And If God Choose I Shall But

Sleep On, Baby, On The Floor, Tired Of All The Playing, Sleep With Smile The Sweeter For That You Dropped Away In! On Your Curls' Full Roundness Stand Golden Lights Serenely-- One Cheek, Pushed Out By The Hand, Folds The Dimple Inly.

Anybody Is Qualified, According To Everybody, For Giving Opinions Upon Poetry. It Is Not So In Chemistry And Mathematics. Nor Is It So, I Believe, In Whist And The Polka. But Then These Are More Serious Things.

And Lips Say “god Be Pitiful,” Who Ne'er Said “god Be Praised.”

Wall Must Get The Weather Stain Before They Grow The Ivy.

In Your Patience Ye Are Strong.