Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
Hospitality sitting with gladness.
Hospitality sitting with gladness.
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings read more
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgement of others.
To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgement of others.
Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are.
Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are.
