Author: Henry David Thoreau (---.igul1.hawkcommunications.com)
Date: 03-26-05 23:35
The former post was removed as it was off topic. We will be migrating to registration-only forums at jollyrogerwest.com Great Books forums and booksliterature.com Great Books forums. These are Great Books sites, and we prefer posts such as:
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice,--in it, and in my rhyme.
I will stand on, and continue to use, the figures I have used, because I
believe they are correct. Now, I'm not going to deny that you don't now
and then slip up on something; no one bats a thousand.
Today, if you invent a better mousetrap, the government comes along with a
We should measure welfare's success by how many people leave welfare, not
by how many are added.