Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone

After All, What Is Every Man? A Horde Of Ghosts - Like A Chinese Nest Of Boxes - Oaks That Were Acorns That Were Oaks. Death Lies Behind Us, Not In Front - In Our Ancestors, Back And Back Until.

A Harvest Mouse Goes Scampering By, With Silver Claws And Silver Eye; And Moveless Fish In The Water Gleam, By Silver Reeds In A Silver Stream.

The Only Catalogue Of This World's Goods That Really Counts Is That Which We Keep In The Silence Of The Mind.

We Wake And Whisper Awhile, But, The Day Gone By, Silence And Sleep Like Fields Of Amaranth Lie.

Three Jolly Huntsmen, In Coats Of Red, Rode Their Horses Up To Bed.