“Man’s greatest tragedy is that he can conceive of a perfection which he cannot attain.” – Lord Byron(Jerome MacGann) O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full, …