Maxioms by George Crabbe
And took for truth the test of ridicule.
And took for truth the test of ridicule.
But monument themselves memorials need.
But monument themselves memorials need.
Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies;
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Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies;
The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare,
And shed their substance on the floating air.
Habit with him was all the test of truth;
"It must be right: I've done it from my youth."
Habit with him was all the test of truth;
"It must be right: I've done it from my youth."
