There Is Nothing So Skillful In Its

The New Is Older Than The Old; And Newest Friend Is Oldest Friend In This: That, Waiting Him, We Longest Grieved To Miss One Thing We Sought.

O May, Sweet-voice One, Going Thus Before, Forever June May Pour Her Warm Red Wine Of Life And Passions,--sweeter Days Are Thine!

Wounded Vanity Knows When It Is Mortally Hurt; And Limps Off The Field, Piteous, All Disguises Thrown Away. But Pride Carries Its Banner To The Last.

Who Waits Until The Wind Shall Silent Keep Will Never Find The Ready Hour To Sow.

Bee To The Blossom, Moth To The Flame; Each To His Passion; What's In A Name?