You Say, O Sage, When Weather-Checked, "I Have Been Favoured So With Cloudless Skies, I Must Expect This Dash Of Rain Or Snow." "Since Health Has Been My Lot," You Say, "So Many Months Of Late, I Must Not Chafe That One Short Day Of Sickness Mars My State." You Say, "Such Bliss Has Been My Share From Love'S Unbroken Smile, It Is But Reason I Should Bear A Cross Therein Awhile." And Thus You Do Not Count Upon Continuance Of Joy; But, When At Ease, Expect Anon A Burden Of Annoy. But, Sage This Earth Why Not A Place Where No Reprisals Reign, Where Never A Spell Of Pleasantness Makes Reasonable A Pain? December 21, 1908.