To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
VAIN GRATUITIES
Never was there a man much uglier
In the eyes of other women, or more grim:
“The Lord has filled her chalice to the brim,
So let us pray she’s a philosopher,”