For Man May Pious Texts Repeat, And

The Cowslip Is A Country Wench.

I Saw Old Autumn In The Misty Morn Stand Shadowless Like Silence, Listening To Silence.

Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery Spray.

Alas For The Rarity Of Christian Charity Under The Sun!

A Name, It Has More Than Nominal Worth, And Belongs To Good Or Bad Luck At Birth