“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, …