As Soon As They're Out Of Your

Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

His Are The Quiet Steeps Of Dreamland, The Waters Of No-more-pain; His Ram's Bell Rings 'neath An Arch Of Stars, "rest, Rest, And Rest Again.

Slowly, Silently, Now The Moon Walks The Night In Her Silver Shoon.

So, Blind To Someone I Must Be.

What Is The World, O Soldiers? It Is I, I, This Incessant Snow, This Northern Sky.