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I think, whatever mortals crave, With impotent endeavor, A wreath--a rank--a throne--a grave-- The world goes round forever; I think that life is not too long, And therefore I determine, That many people read a song, Who will not read a sermon.
Topic: Songs
Author: Winthrop Mackworth Praed
His talk was like a stream which runs With rapid change from rock to roses; It slipped from politics to puns; It passed from Mahomet to Moses; Beginning with the laws that keep The planets in the radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep For dressing eels or shoeing horses.
Topic: Talk
Author: Winthrop Mackworth Praed
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