Words Are But Holy As The Deeds

Jealousy's Eyes Are Green.

And On The Pedestal These Words Appear:? 'my Name Is Ozymandias, King Of Kings:? Look On My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair!' ?nothing Beside Remains. Round The Decay? Of That Colossal Wreck, Boundless And Bare? The Lone And Level Sands Stretch Far Away.

January Gray Is Here, Like A Sexton By Her Grave; February Bears The Bier, March With Grief Doth Howl And Rave, And April Weeps -- But, O Ye Hours! Follow With May's Fairest Flowers.

It Is Found Easier, By The Short-sighted Victims Of Disease, To Palliate Their Torments By Medicine, Than To Prevent Them By Regimen

The Man Of Virtuous Soul Commands Not, Nor Obeys.