That Is The Land Of Lost Content,

Tell Me Not Here, It Needs Not Saying, What Tune The Enchantress Plays In Aftermaths Of Soft September Or Under Blanching Mays, For She And I Were Long Acquainted And I Knew All Her Ways.

Experience Has Taught Me, When I Am Shaving Of A Morning, To Keep Watch Over My Thoughts, Because, If A Line Of Poetry Strays Into My Memory, My Skin Bristles So That The Razor Ceases To Act.

Three Minutes Thought Would Suffice To Find This Out; But Thought Is Irksome And Three Minutes Is A Long Time.

In Every American There Is An Air Of Incorrigible Innocence, Which Seems To Conceal A Diabolical Cunning.

Some Men Are More Interesting Than Their Books But My Book Is More Interesting Than Its Man.