It takes all sorts of in and outdoor schooling To get adapted to my kind of fooling.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile / And then come back to it and begin over.
The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.
The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain.
A champion of the workingman has never been known to die of overwork.
Hell is a half-filled auditorium.