To my Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctor's spite;
Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
And lap me in delight.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
A Psalm of Life.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, "Life is but an empty dream!" For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting.
Let the dead Past bury its dead!