God Warms His Hands At Man's Heart

I Must Down To The Seas Again, To The Vagrant Gypsy Life, To The Gull's Way And The Whale's Way Where The Wind's Like A Whetted Knife And All I Ask Is A Merry Yarn From A Laughing Fellow Rover, And Quiet Sleep And A Sweet Dream When The Long Trick's Over.

Oh Some Are Fond Of Spanish Wine, And Some Are Fond Of French.

All I Ask Is A Tall Ship And A Star To Sail Her By.

Since The Printing Press Came Into Being, Poetry Has Ceased To Be The Delight Of The Whole Community Of Man; It Has Become The Amusement And Delight Of The Few.

In This Life He Laughs Longest Who Laughs Last.