Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, Sir.
Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, Sir.
Behavior is what a man does, not what he thinks, feels, or believes.
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.
That odd old man is dead a year --
We miss his stated Hat.
Through those old Grounds of memory,
The sauntering alone
Is a divine intemperance
A prudent man would shun.
She stung Him -- sapped His firm Advance --
But when Her Worst was done
And He -- unmoved regarded Her --
Acknowledged Him a Man.
Doubtless, he thought it meet of him
To say good-by to men.
Till it has loved, no man or woman can become itself.
The reticent volcano keeps
His never slumbering plan --
Confided are his projects pink
To no precarious man.
Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence
As Gold the Pyrites would shun --
What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus
To meet so enabled a Man!
His mind of man, a secret makes I meet him with a start He carries a circumference In which I have no part.
All life -- to know each other --
Whom we can never learn --
And bye and bye -- a Change --
Called Heaven --
Rapt Neighborhoods of Men --
Just finding out -- what puzzled us --
Without the lexicon!
Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames -- and Men!
Is Immortality a bane
That men are so oppressed?
I like a look of Agony, Because I know it's true Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe
A Bog -- affronts my shoe --
What else have Bogs -- to do --
The only Trade they know --
The splashing Men!
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories