Fish Say, They Have Their Stream And

Now, God Be Thanked Who Has Matched Us With His Hour, And Caught Our Youth, And Wakened Us From Sleeping, With Hand Made Sure, Clear Eye, And Sharpened Power, To Turn, As Swimmers Into Cleanness Leaping.

All The Little Emptiness Of Love!

They Say That The Dead Die Not, But Remain Near To The Rich Heirs Of Their Grief And Mirth. I Think They Ride The Calm Mid-heaven, As These, In Wise Majestic Melancholy Train, And Watch The Moon, And The Still-raging Seas, And Men, Coming And Going On The Earth.

Stands The Church Clock At Ten To Three? And Is There Honey Still For Tea?

A Kiss Makes The Heart Young Again And Wipes Out The Years.