It Ought To Have Gangsters, And Aeroplanes

My Road Leads Me Seawards To The White Dipping Sails.

All Ye That Pass By! While We Least Think It He Prepares His Mate. Mate, And The King's Pawn Played, It Never Ceases, Though All The Earth Is Dust Of Taken Pieces.

But He Has Gone, A Nation's Memory And Veneration, Among The Radiant, Ever Venturing On, Somewhere, With Morning, As Such Spirits Will.

The Lord Who Gave Us Earth And Heaven Takes That As Thanks For All He's Given. The Book He Lent Is Given Back All Blotted Red And Smutted Black.

Quinquireme Of Nineveh From Distant Ophir, Rowing Home To Haven In Sunny Palestine, With A Cargo Of Ivory, And Apes And Peacocks, Sandalwood, Cedarwood, And Sweet White Wine.