It Is Only In Sorrow Bad Weather Masters Us; In Joy We Face The Storm And Defy It.
From Sunny Woof And Cloudy Weft Fell Rain In Sheets; So, To Myself I Hummed These Hazard Rhymes, And Left The Learned Volume On The Shelf.
We All Have These Places Where Shy Humiliations Gambol On Sunny Afternoons.
The Indian Summer Of Life Should Be A Little Sunny And A Little Sad, Like The Season, And Infinite In Wealth And Depth Of Tone, But Never Hustled.
