I Heard An Angel Speak Last Night/and

Anybody Is Qualified, According To Everybody, For Giving Opinions Upon Poetry. It Is Not So In Chemistry And Mathematics. Nor Is It So, I Believe, In Whist And The Polka. But Then These Are More Serious Things.

Happy Are All Free Peoples, Too Strong To Be Dispossessed. But Blessed Are Those Among Nations Who Dare To Be Strong For The Rest!

For None Can Express Thee, Though All Should Approve Thee. I Love Thee So, Dear, That I Only Can Love Thee.

This Race Is Never Grateful: From The First, One Fills Their Cup At Supper With Pure Wine, Which Back They Give At Cross-time On A Sponge, In Bitter Vinegar.

Of Writing Many Books There Is No End.