It Was Roses, Roses, All The Way,

Who Knows But The World May End Tonight

It Is The Glory And Good Of Art, That Art Remains The One Way Possible Of Speaking Truth, To Mouths Like Mine At Least.

Pippa's Song The Year's At The Spring The Day's At The Morn Morning's At Seven, The Hill Side's Dew-pearled The Lark's On The Wing The Snail's On The Thorn God's In His Heaven- All's Right With The World

If Thou Tastest A Crust Of Bread, Thou Tastest All The Stars And All The Heavens.

Again The Cousin's Whistle! Go, My Love.